


Through the Veil and back

by Camille785



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursleys, Adoption, Deal with Death, F/M, Godfather Sirius Black, Haphne, M/M, Meddling Rita Skeeter, One-sided Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Other story ideas in mind, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Second War with Voldemort, Sirius Black Lives, dumbledore - Freeform, free Sirius, minor friendships with other students, no lemons; will be in a side fic, romione, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-04 06:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12163578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camille785/pseuds/Camille785
Summary: He isn't gone. He isn't dead. He's just captive, just out of reach. He's hidden behind those drapes, unable to come out by his own. I'll make him come back. He promised we'd have a home together once this was all over. He swore on his Marauders' honor. Free!Sirius. Wolfstar. Harry/Daphne.At the battle in the Department of Mysteries, Sirius Black fell through the Veil thanks to a stunning spell sent by Bellatrix LeStrange.Harry, knowing that Sirius was just hidden behind the Veil because of the whispers he was hearing, launched himself after Sirius. When on the other side, the Horcrux within him died and Harry, not wanting to let his Godfather die, proposed a deal with Death herself.Sirius and Harry now have two years to hunt down and destroy all of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes. If they fail, both shall die and doom the Wizarding World to an eternity of servitude and misery under the reign of Lord Voldemort.





	1. Prologue

Death. An inevitable part of life. Where there is birth, there is death. Some meet their maker when only a few hours old, and others' hearts seem to just never stop beating. The living are often afraid of death, of the unknown. They try to outrun death each and every day by taking medications, treatments, special cocktails. But you cannot run forever.

Some people are luckier than others, living a long and healthy life, though not every person has a happy fate. Kids are abused, teenagers are bullied, humiliated, women are mistreated. Many die before their time, often committing suicide or murder, or having an accident.

Religion often says that every action, every death, every heartbreak, happens for a reason. Religion finds Death fair and when someone is to die, they welcome eternal rest with wide open arms.

The Grim Reaper is far from fair. She is cruel and vicious and immoral, especially when someone is able to cheat her, to provoke unnecessary and unplanned demises, to slaughter souls before they should expire. But, just like Fate, when the Dark Angel is desperate, she is capable of mercy.


	2. You aren't getting rid of me

A bright red light caught him square in the chest. *It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place.

Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing-Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second...

But Sirius did not reappear.

'SIRIUS!' Harry yelled. 'SIRIUS!'

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out...

But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back.

'There's nothing you can do, Harry-'

'Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!'

'-it's too late, Harry.'

'We can still reach him-' Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go …*

So Harry bit down, hard. It was the only thing that came to his mind to make Lupin release him. He bit so hard he drew blood. Harry didn't want to hurt him, but Lupin didn't understand. Sirius was stuck within those drapes, needing help to get out, and Harry will help him. There was no way he would let Sirius fare for himself when it was obvious he needed help. The werewolf, in both surprise and pain, let his grip loosen for a fraction of a second; it was enough.

The teen fought against his grip at the precise moment with everything that he had. Then, without knowing how, the older man was sent seven feet back and Harry was sent flying to the ground, but he quickly got up and launched himself after Sirius.

The last thing Harry was conscious of was of the Headmaster and the ex-professor running towards him, soft, black, ragged curtains and a blinding white light before everything went black.

-oOoOo-

He was floating. His clothes were heavy as if underwater and the air was as cold and wet as clouds in the sky, but there was neither liquid nor height. Everything around him was pure white, including his clothes. Harry was as clean as possible, and no scars nor could blood be found on his skin. It was a peaceful place, and Harry forgot why he was even here.

Moving was so difficult, he never felt as heavy nor as light in his entire life. The feeling resembled to when Barty Crouch Jr., while impersonating Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, cast the Imperius Curse on him in class. Or when Voldemort also cast it to try to make him answer, to make him obey.

It was bliss, not thinking, just floating, dreaming, and not feeling any pain.

Pain? Why would he be in pain? He couldn't remember.

Remember…

Obliviation? Lockhart? Had he been obliviated? Did the Professor make him forget everything?

No. No, ex-Professor. Lockhart obliviated himself down there. Down in the Chamber of Secrets. Secrets. Dumbledore's Army. It is secret, isn't it? Secret Keeper, too, is secret. Pettigrew was secret. As was Dumbledore. No, not was, is. And Dumbledore isn't secret, he is _Secret Keeper_. What was he keeping though?

A faint tingling went through his whole body, like a small gust of air, a breeze. His hair was moving in gentle waves. A funny contrast, pure white decor and hair the colour of a raven's plumage...

Black. The Secret kept. The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Number 12 Grimmauld Place. A dark, dreary home with a portrait screaming obscenities when you made too much noise near it.

A childhood home for two people. Two people with black hair. Black hair… heir?

Sirius Black. His godfather.

He remembered. He remembered everything. But with remembrance came memories. And with memories came  _pain_.

It was as if the Cruciatus Curse, the feeling of a thousand white-hot knives on each and every one of his pores, focused solely on the lightning bolt scarring his forehead.

Harry had experienced many hardships in life. He had gained many scars emotionally, mentally, and physically in his almost sixteen years on earth, but  _never_  had something hurt as much as the pain he was now feeling.

It was unbearable, he wanted it to stop, he wanted to die, and he would do anything to cease suffering. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it will help bear the torture while it lasted, hoping it will alienate some of the pain. His back was arched in an almost inhuman angle, his hands gripping his forehead, throat already raw from incoherent screaming, eyes having long ago rolled in his head.

Harry was unable to decipher anything, the pain blinding all of his senses. He only had the faintest of feelings of his scar fending wide open, the sensation of something slimy sliding out of his body: a great black mass so big Harry could hardly see any white anymore.

Then it was all over. Harry fell onto his knees on solid ground. He was madly trembling, and he saw that he was no longer in the pure white space. The sky was blue with clouds scattered across it, colours were surrounding him, and the road made of stone. He lifted his head and saw in front of him an imposing estate: it was roughly the size of Malfoy Manor, if not bigger.

Everything about this manor screamed wealth and old age. The great walls were made of ancient stone, and climbing vines were distributed evenly on about two thirds of the chateau. Incredible gardens and sculpted hedges were plastered across the property, which was surrounded by an ancient brick wall. Two grandiose silver gates were attached to the barrier, one on each side, and in the middle of each of these portals was a magnificent  _P_ on top of a creature Harry recognized as a Thestral. There was even a fountain shaped in said magical beast, from what Harry could see.

The teen looked down at him and realized that he wasn't in the white clothes anymore. The scars were back, as were his tattered robes and the dried blood from the battle. Harry sighed and got up, albeit shakily, for he was still banged up from the excruciating pain. He touched his scar with his hand and felt something hot and sticky. Blood. With his sleeve he wiped it off as best as he could.

He looked around him and saw what could only be described as a miles long and large forest, with probably hundreds of magical creatures living in it. Harry turned back and focused on the crest: it was obviously a magical family's, and if he had to guess, he would say it belonged to a very old pureblood family starting with a P. Harry approached the portals, put his hand on the right gate, wand in hand, and gave a light push. The gate opened a bit with a creek and nothing bad happened, so Harry pushed it all the way and took a step forward.

Nothing. No guards, no alarms, no curses or jinxes or hexes coming his way, no expulsion from the grounds. Nothing.

Harry, on edge, took a few more steps cautiously; ready to dodge if anything were to come his way.

Still nothing. He took that as a good sign but still kept his wand out, just in case.

Constant vigilance, as Moody would say.

Harry looked around in awe: the estate was magnificent. Hedges were sculpted in the shape of magical creatures as impressive as Sphinxes, Direwolves, Merpeople, and others were Niffler, Kneazle, and even Demiguise, shaped. All of them were life sized, so when Harry encountered a Dementor shaped one, it was huge with its ten feet tall.

Harry then made his way towards the Thestral shaped fountain. The creature's head was held tall and proud, water gently coming out from the statue's very surface, keeping the beast wet at all times. The horse's hooves were in a polished stone circular basin of a foot deep and of seventeen feet of diameter. The distance between the edge and the hooves was about five feet long.

Harry was entranced by the beauty of the entire property, including the majestic exterior of the manor.

"This is the main Peverell Estate. Striking, isn't it?" a female voice said.

Harry jumped, turned abruptly and drew his wand to the speaker's neck, a spell on his lips. She scowled.

"No need to be jumpy," she snarked. "I was just giving you information. It was obvious that you were wondering to whom it belonged, and still belongs, come to think of it."

"Who are you?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes, taking her in. She was wearing a loose, modest, spaghetti strapped blood red dress. It went to mid-calf at the front, and to the ground at the back. Her feet were clad in black ankle boots with what looked like to be blood stains. Her right middle finger bore a ring made in bones with a single, small onyx on it. Her hair was darker than his and her violet eyes shined bright with mischief. Wisps of mascara and eyeliner could be found on her face. Her skin was pale and pore less and her lips were pouty and red, making a bright contrast. All in all, she was beautiful.

With her perfectly manicured hand, the woman gently pushed aside his wand away from her neck.

"I am known under many names, but I prefer Death. Now, Harry Potter, let's sit and talk."

-oOoOo-

Numbness. It was the only thing he was feeling right now, the only thing he could feel. Harry Potter, his best friend's son, had jumped through the veil after his godfather. He was gone. They were both gone.

Everything was going so well though. After Harry and his friends had been tricked into go to the Ministry, the Order was hurrying, rushing to go to their rescue, to help them. Sirius had insisted on coming and, not having the time to argue, the Order let him come, saying the more the better. Remus knew it was a bad idea.

Although, the battle had been going well. They took everyone in the Death Chamber by surprise, popping up one by one, taking down Death Eaters as they appeared.

But then, they fought back, and it was a true battle, where lives will most certainly be taken.

And the Light fought well, everyone fought well, and everything was fine, right up until Nymphadora Tonks was taken down by Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius went charging at her, taunting her.

Then Sirius fell through the Veil.

Remus couldn't believe it. Sirius was still laughing, still taunting Bellatrix when she shot a bright red jet of light at him, knocking him backwards and sending him through the black drapes. He wanted to cry out, he almost cried out: he felt the pain of when your mate died, though it wasn't as intense as he heard it to be.

Maybe it was because his body couldn't take more. Maybe it was because Sirius' death hadn't totally registered yet. Maybe the books had exaggerated so Remus was expecting more torment, more misery, more despair.

Even though Remus only wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back out, even though he wanted to die, he knew he couldn't. The Order of the Phoenix needed him, the Light needed him, and most of all, Harry needed him. The boy who called him "Unca Mooey" when he was just a babe, the teen who called him "Professor Lupin" during his third year, and still does, the teen on whom the fate of the Wizarding World is on his shoulders, and his shoulders alone.

So when he saw said teen running towards the dais, he knew he couldn't wallow in grief, he knew he couldn't just curl up in a ball under his bed sheets and do nothing.

He ran as fast as he could, using some of his werewolf strength to go even faster, and enveloped his arms around Harry's thin chest. The youth fought against his grip, determined to go after Sirius even though Remus told him he was gone, he was dead, he wasn't coming back.

It was torture, holding back his best friend's son to stop him from running to his death just after Sirius died, but alas, it didn't work, for Harry bit him, hard.

He was surprised that Harry had decided to bite him, and the throb he felt was enough, apparently, to make him loosen his grip. Then, the youth surprised the elder.

Accidental magic. Or was it wandless magic? Either way, Remus was blasted seven feet away from Harry, and both men fell to the floor, although Remus' fall was rougher than Harry's, who was able to get up as quickly as he fell.

The werewolf, even with his quicker than standard reflexes, even when he got up and started running towards Harry, even with Dumbledore on his feet, he could do absolutely nothing to save Harry and watched, powerless, as the last part of James, of Lily, of his old life, vanished behind ragged, black drapes, which fluttered before settling down again.

-oOoOo-

It seemed as if time had stopped when Harry went through. Even before the Death Eaters heard the agony filled cry of loss that shocked them to their very core coming from the werewolf, who was kneeling by the arch, his right hand on it, they had stopped fighting. Tears were streaming down the former Professor's face, though Remus didn't notice.

When the man started looking around and realized that Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped, he gave another cry, a fury filled one this time, and punched the dais with his left hand, the stone cracking underneath the force of it.

The Death Eaters, still in shock that an apparently soulless monster could emit such raw emotion, the Order benefited of the situation and started taking down the enemy, capturing them. Some still escaped though.

Ministry officials, most of them Aurors, then came running into the room, took in the damage, the situation, and started rounding up the Death Eaters, securing them and taking them away. The other ministry workers brought the still standing Order members to the Atrium and brought the hurt to St Mungo's.

Remus was in a pitiful state: tears streaming down his face in abundance mingling with the blood and sweat, torn clothes, non-seeing eyes. His heart, his whole body, was aching.

When in the grand circular room, Remus went for a bench and sat down, shoulders and back hunched, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

Then the questions started.

'How did you know of the attack?' A friend.

'What was your relation with Sirius Black?' Lover.

'Where is Harry Potter?' Gone.

'How long have you been collaborating with Sirius Black, a known criminal?' He is not a criminal.

'What was your relation with Harry Potter?' Undetermined.

'Did you know of the attack before it happened?' No.

'Gone where?' Hogwarts.

'Yes, he is. Killed 13 with one spell, that madman.' Shut up.

Finally, after two hours, the questions started diminishing. Spent, Remus lay down, one arm on his chest, the other dangling from the edge of the bench, not wanting to think of how he would never see Harry and Sirius again, how his pack was truly gone, forever.

Remus saw purple robes approaching him and sitting beside his head. They sat in silence for a long time, none of them acknowledging the other.

"I want to say goodbye." His voice was hoarse, dead. It held no emotion, no tone, nothing.

Dumbledore only nodded. He too looked as if the world had just ended. Remus had heard rumours that Dumbledore regarded Harry as a grandson, but never thought they were true. Apparently, they were.

The Headmaster got up and turned to face the still lying ex-Professor, his hand extended. Remus looked at the hand, and then gazed into his mentor's eyes, his amber orbs questioning his sad, comforting blue ones. The elder nodded once. Remus took the offered hand and got up, leaning on Dumbledore as his legs gave under him, too weak to carry his weight.

Together they made their way towards the elevator and descended to the Department of Mysteries, and then to the Death Chamber, Remus supported by Dumbledore all the way. They walked to the dais and Remus let go of the other man's hand, putting his right palm against the arch, sliding down to his knees, gazing up at the black veil.

"I failed him," sighed the purple robed wizard. "Had I told him about the prophecy instead of wanting to give him a proper childhood, none of this would have happened. It is my fault."

"It's not your fault," Remus corrected automatically. His voice was flat, lifeless.

He should have forced Sirius to stay at headquarters, going so far as hitting him with a  _petrificus totalus_. Sirius wasn't ready to fight. It had been over twelve years, before Azkaban, since he had last fought in a true battle. He shouldn't have been permitted to come. During the battle, he should've stayed by his lover's side, helping, protecting him. He should've summoned Sirius' clothes to stop him from falling through the veil.

He shouldn't have let Harry get the better of him, he should've stupefied him. Had he used a spell against him, whether it be  _impedimenta_  or  _stupefy_ , there was a great possibility that Harry would have still been living. Grieving, yes, but living. Instead, he was dead, gone. He couldn't even have his body,  _their_  bodies.

Remus was so lost in thought that he didn't see a sombre purple light being emitted by the archway, nor did he hear Dumbledore's gasp of surprise. What he did notice, though, was two figures being forced out of the veil, grunting from landing roughly on the dais. Both of them had dark hair and torn clothes with dried blood on them.

The one with the longer hair coughed and started talking, and the werewolf suddenly remembered what had been said at Grimmauld Place before this whole catastrophe: 'You aren't get-'

"-ting rid of me so easily, Remmie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3087
> 
> 03/07/17
> 
> *Excerpt from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix chapter 35, Beyond the Veil*
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


	3. Pact with the Grim Reaper

"You're back."

"Yes."

"Death brought you back."

"No. Death permitted us to go back to the land of the living, at a price."

"But Death still brought you back."

The Order of the Phoenix and Harry were sitting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, the first meeting since the battle a week ago. Sirius and Harry, sitting beside each other, had told them what they recalled, but the Order members had difficulty processing the information, whether it be because they found it too improbable, because they didn't believe in such stories, or for another unknown reason.

The unregistered animagus only remembered the white, weird, floaty room, but Harry was able to describe more about his experience. He told the Order more details about the white space. He told them about Peverell Manor and its family crest. He also informed them about the girl, Death, and the deal he made with her, the deal he had to do to save Sirius and to help defeat Voldemort.

"Listen, it's not complicated!" Harry blew up, and then proceeded to explain. "When I went through the Veil after Sirius, the soul part that was in my scar died. Then, I made an agreement with Death: I, and only I, am to destroy all Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. People are allowed to help me, but  _my_  hand has to slay them. I, we, have two years to eradicate all of them, otherwise both Sirius and I will be recalled to the other side."

"Also, I am not complete," added Sirius. "The soul part previously within Harry was only 1/64 of the Riddler's soul. For me to come back completely, for good, Harry has to kill the Dark tosser and all his precious objects. When one is butchered, its soul will come to mine. It doesn't matter if it's Voldemort's essence; it is still a life force. As for the 'summon back to the other side' part, a non-complete, back from the grave soul can survive more or less two years in the land of the living. Passed that, it starts to slowly and painfully decompose, bringing the body with it, hence the accord."

"So technically, Death, known to be incredibly selfish and unforgivable, offered both your lives back and the end of Voldemort on a silver platter," Hestia Jones said sardonically.

"Yes," said Harry without hesitating, though Jones completely ignored it.

"This is ridiculous!" she yelled, banging on the table with her fists. "I don't believe you! Death isn't merciful, nice, generous, or whatever good qualifier. This story is cock and bull, plain and simple. Maybe you are really back from the dead, and if so, it is pure luck! There is no such thing as 'making deals' with the Grim Reaper."

With those final words, she got up abruptly, her chair falling to the floor, and left the room angrily, robes and tied-up hair billowing in her leave. A few seconds later, they could hear the front door slam.

No one said anything for a while, either lost in thought or shocked by the sudden outburst of Hestia Jones, who is normally a serene and calm person.

Alastor Moody, also reticent to believe in the events that happened behind the Veil, broke the silence, his tone suspicious and sharp, and his voice gruff.

"Why, exactly, would Death do such a favour, such an act of generosity?"

"Because she is angry, and desperate," responded Harry softly. "Voldemort has escaped her over and over again, and without help, she will never have him. She informed me that she had special a place prepared to welcome him in the afterlife, and that he killed people who apparently were not supposed to die so soon."

From what Harry understood from the incredibly long discussion with the Dark Angel, the moment someone is born, his demise is decided, engraved in stone. The only moment that the passing doesn't happen as planned is when a Dark Lord rises. There is a reason why most Dark Lords search a way to gain immortality; they know what awaits for them beyond the grave.

Some choose, though, to not believe such tales, and only want immortality to rule on the world forever.

Either way, all Dark Lords take the risk because, in all their glory and arrogance, they think they can run forever. The fact that Voldemort has made Horcruxes and is a Dark Lord means that anything can happen, any life can be chosen to end at will.

Voldemort is literally stealing Fate's and Death's job from them, seeking to be the one and only Master of Death.

In sum, deadly politics.

The gentle and tired voice of the Headmaster made Harry snap out of his thoughts.

"It makes sense. Harry, having been a Horcrux himself, has to obliterate all the objects containing part of Tom's anima, and Sirius not being able to live properly is also understandable. What I do not comprehend, though, is why Harry will die if we do not accomplish the mission."

Sirius then answered that Harry's and his life are tied together, because the spirit Sirius has inside him had originally latched on Harry's soul, and as the years passed, tendrils the teen's magic enveloped the Dark Lord's soul to neutralise it, so it would not affect Harry.

The drawback is that it was painful to get the soul piece out of the teen, for it had become a part of him.

After the explanation, Dumbledore ended the meeting with the promise to have another one soon and the kitchen started to empty itself. One by one, Order members clapped Sirius and Harry on the shoulders when exiting, muttering welcome back words.

When all the activity ceased, only Lupin, Tonks, Sirius and Harry were left in the room. Lupin was looking anywhere but Sirius and Harry, though Tonks seemed oblivious.

"So, Death brought you back," said a confused Tonks, her brows furrowed.

The messy haired boy only groaned in response and banged his head on the table.

-oOoOo-

It was a peaceful night at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The sky was clear of clouds and you could see the brightly shining stars just by looking outside. The dark home was eerily silent: no Weasleys were in the house, no Order members had night shifts, Mrs Black's portrait was sleeping, and Kreacher was nowhere to be found.

The Boy-Who-Lived was curled up on the sofa in the drawing room, gazing at the Black family tree, observing all the links and ties. Since having been to Peverell Manor in the afterlife, he was curious to know to whom it belonged, as Death had said that the Peverell name was dead, but not the blood. It was obviously a pureblood family, hence the scrutinizing.

Harry's eye caught the scar on his left hand, and he wondered what he ought to do. Should he tell Sirius? Remus? He sighed, imagining their reactions.

Sirius would explode, march up right to the Ministry, yell at the Minister, yell at Umbridge, then go to the Head of the DMLE to report it.

Remus would be more reserved, quieter, though his eyes would turn amber, and he would rarely leave Harry's side for a few days at least, the wolf inside him needing to protect his cub. When he would be calmed down, he would research everything about the quill and how to properly wreck Umbridge's life by shattering her reputation and sending her to Azkaban. He too would seek the aid of the Head of the DMLE.

Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had believed him during his trial last August, she had defended him. Harry had also taught his niece, Susan Bones, in the DA, and she hadn't needed a lot of convincing for her to accept that Voldemort was back.

Harry took one last look at the tapestry, and then got up to try to get some sleep. He would contact Madam Bones about Umbridge tomorrow, first thing in the morning. He would work out to whom belonged Peverell Manor later.

The teen climbed into his bed in the room he and Ron had shared last summer and tried to get some shut-eye, to no avail. For an hour he tossed and turned in the bed, incapable to get comfortable. Then, an idea popped up in his head, and Harry was unable to ignore it.

The fifteen-year-old pushed back the covers and left the bedroom, careful to not make any noise. On his tiptoes, he made his way to the Black family library, where only Blacks by blood or those keyed into the wards were allowed to enter.

Once in, Harry looked into the Law Enforcement section, chose a few books about the Wizengamot, the DMLE, Lordships and laws in general. He read the books from cover to cover, taking down notes of what was the most important in his opinion, writing down on another piece of parchment what he didn't understand.

When he finished, Harry decided to eat something before continuing, so he left the library and went down to the basement, where the kitchen was situated. But someone was already there.

"Good morning, Harry," Lupin said without lifting his eyes from the article he was currently reading in the  _Daily Prophet_ , taking a sip from a mug which contained what seemed to be coffee.

"'M-morning," yawned Harry deeply, his sleepless night catching up with him. Lupin looked over the journal and almost immediately folded it, his eyes dancing with mirth. He leaned over the table, resting his elbows and forearms against it.

"Or is it good night?" he asked sceptically, lifting an eyebrow. Lupin took in his pseudo nephew's appearance: deep rings under his eyes, pale, sickly skin, a yawn every minute or so, hair ruffled, most probably from Harry's hand going through it every now and then.

"I c-couldn't sleep. I was in the library all night. What time is it?"

Lupin continued staring at Harry before realizing that he won't be given an explanation.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair before answering. "It is five past nine."

Wow. Harry's eyes grew wide open: he had spent close to ten hours in the library, getting familiar with the Wizarding Laws, and even then, there was about a third of what he had read that he didn't understand. Although, he didn't need what he hadn't understood, it could be useful for later references.

"R-really?"

"No, it is four in the morning," Lupin replied sarcastically. "Yes, cub, it really is nine. How about you go take a nap?"

"No, it's okay, I'm fine. I'll just take something to eat on return to the library. Loads to do," Harry chuckled weakly, grabbed an apple and left the kitchen.

Immediately upon entering the book room, he started researching the charms he would need to protect the information in the letter he was going to send to Madam Bones.

He found the spell that would burn the letter after the intended recipient read the written message in a book called  _Something to hide?_. In it, there was dozens of spells, most of them dark, that helped hide objects, secret rooms, and private letters.

The incantation he needed was  _praesidium ignis_ , and the spell was often used with illegal money transfers and secret meeting places.

The next spell he also found in  _Something to hide?_ , and the incantation was  _quoniam secreto_. Said spell was often used when married people, especially women, wanted to communicate with their paramour without their partner knowing.

The teen sat at the desk and scribbled the spells on a spare parchment. He then started writing his letter.

_Dear Madam Bones,_ he wrote.

_We have never really spoken to each, although you defended me at my trial last August. I also know your niece, Susan Bones, although we only know each other from class and from an extracurricular group._

_My name is Harrison James Potter, Harry for short, and I am the next Lord Potter and the Black heir apparent._

_I am writing to report a crime. In fact, I am reporting multiple crimes. I would recommend you take out a quill and parchment and take notes, for this letter will burn a minute after you finish reading it._

_This letter is also charmed only for you to read, so don't bother showing it to other people._

_First of all, the underage magic. Last summer I, as you ought to know, cast the Patronus Charm because two Dementors were after my cousin and I. I discovered recently who sent them: it was none other than Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to Cornelius Oswald Fudge._

_Umbridge told me herself on June 18th in her office._

_Next, the detentions. You probably heard rumours about me always having detention with Umbridge from your niece, Susan. I can almost hear you ask the question in your head: What could possibly happen in detention for him to report it?_

_I did a fair few hours of research, and I finally found out what I was using all this time. Hermione and I looked everywhere in the library at school, to no avail._

_In my detentions with Umbridge, which were around five or six hours each, I was told to write lines. From the moment I arrived to the moment I left, all I would do is pen on parchment 'I must not tell lies'._

_The catch? It wasn't a normal quill._

_It was a Black Quill._

_As I wrote earlier, I just discovered what it was, how illegal and dangerous it was. Just like any pure Dark Magic, it can render a person insane. It is a wonder I still have my whole head. Although my hand isn't the best sight._

_Third offense: the Cruciatus. Yes, you read well. The Cruciatus, the feeling of having your bones on fire. Umbridge is lucky, though, because she didn't actually use it. She was a fraction of a second away from casting the spell, though._

_She had actually started saying the incantation. But then one of my best friends, Hermione Granger, stopped her by saying that she'll take her to Dumbledore's secret weapon._

_Obviously, it was a downright lie, as there is no weapon, but she didn't want to see me tortured. Had Hermione not intervened, I would have suffered the Cruciatus Curse. And I don't doubt one second that it would've been powerful; that woman hates me to her very bones._

_That is all for the crimes I would like to report, but there is another matter at hand that bothers me, and I was wondering if you could help. It is a sensible subject: Sirius Black._

_To make it short, Sirius is innocent, and Peter Pettigrew is alive and the true traitor of the Potters, my family._

_It was Pettigrew who was Secret Keeper to my family. It was Pettigrew who blew up the street on the first of November. Pettigrew also helped in the ritual to bring back Voldemort and yes, he really is alive again._

_Pettigrew also lived with the Weasleys as their pet rat, Scabbers, until the end of my third year, when we, my friends and I, that is, discovered the subterfuge, thanks to my godfather._

_And to say that the rat slept in our beds for years._

_I understand if you are reticent to believe me, as I have no proof except my memories. But, there is one thing that I can prove: Sirius Orion Black III never had a trial._

_He was shipped to Azkaban without any chance to defend himself, whereas people like the Lestranges were permitted a trial, and they were caught doing the crime they were convicted for._

_So if you could please look for the trial scripts of Sirius Orion Black III, I would be immensely grateful._

_I hope you have jotted down everything, and if not, there is a P.S., so make sure you take note of everything that you need._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harrison James Potter_

_P.S. Have fun with the name Tom Marvolo Riddle_

His letter finished, he left it to dry. Then, he would ask either Sirius or Lupin to cast the privacy spells, as he couldn't do magic outside of school until he is of age.

A few minutes passed, and he took the now dry missive and the spare parchment in his hands. The teen started climbing the stairs, but thought better and descended to the kitchen.

He wanted to keep this letter secret from Sirius, as it contained information about him. He wouldn't want to get godfather's hopes up.

Lupin wasn't in the kitchen, though, but he was in the Drawing room, lying on the sofa, relaxing.

"Professor?" asked Harry as he stepped into the room. "Do you have a moment?"

"Harry, please, I am not your Professor anymore. Call me Remus, or Moony."

"Uh, right, sorry Profe-Remus. Could you help me?"

"Yes, of course." He sat up and patted the spot next to him in a silent invitation. Harry took place and faced his ex-Professor. "What do you need my help for?" asked the werewolf.

"Well, I would do it myself, but as I cannot do magic outside of school, I was wondering if you could cast them? There are no wand movements and I have the incantations."

"Let me see the spells," requested Lupin. Harry passed them to him, and the werewolf studied the words to be said. "I will need the name of the person you are sending this letter."

"Really? It didn't say that where I found them."

"No, it wouldn't," Lupin replied, going into 'teacher mode'. "These privacy charms are NEWT level. They do not put all the information about NEWT level spells in books: it is a security measure so not everyone can properly use them, for NEWT level is more dangerous than OWL level. You'll probably remark the difference come September. Anyhow, who is this mystery person?"

Harry hesitated before answering. "Madam Bones."

"Ah, dear Amelia. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, isn't she?" His eyes were twinkling, his tone amused.

"Yes," admitted the teen grudgingly.

Lupin chuckled, then winked. "I won't mention anything to Sirius if you tell him it's you who ate from the secret chocolate stash."

"Deal," Harry said, extending his hand, knowing Sirius would never believe him. "Where is the stash?"

Lupin shook his hand, mirth in his eyes, and Harry had a gut feeling that Lupin knew Sirius wouldn't believe him.

"Under Padfoot's bed."

-oOoOo-

The letter charmed, sealed, and sent, Harry was lying on his bed, munching on a piece of chocolate. His gut feeling had returned with fervour, and the teen was more and more restless, convinced something bad was going to happen.

And he was right, for someone knocked at his door hastily; it was Sirius. He looked concerned. Harry sat up.

"Hey, Harry. Dumbledore is downstairs in the Drawing room; he would like to talk to you."

"What for?" asked Harry, his gut feeling growing.

"I have no idea, but I hope it's good news. I could do with having some." He muttered the end with an exhausted sigh. 

Harry lifted himself off his bed and followed Sirius to the Drawing room. Dumbledore was sitting at the place Harry had occupied around an hour ago, Lupin beside him. His air was grave, and even before the Headmaster had started talking, Harry knew that whatever bad news Dumbledore was about to reveal, it went hand in hand with his gut feeling.

"Ah, Harry, my boy, Sirius, please, sit down." Dumbledore gestured to a few chairs with his hand. "We need to talk."

The ex-convict and his godson sat down in the chairs the elder wizard had gestured to, right in front him the sofa.

Sirius was agitated. "What is it Dumbledore? Did something happen? Did someone die? Did-"

The werewolf cut off the animagus. "Nothing has happened, Sirius, everyone in alright."

"Indeed, as Remus said, everyone is fine. No, why I am here today is to talk about young Harry's summer."

"What about it?" intervened Harry, anxious. "I thought that we were going Horcrux hunting?"

Dumbledore seemed to look uneasy, but the next second it was gone. "No, Harry not this summer. I already have a lead on one, and when have it, I will come and see you so you can destroy it. I have planned to do that with every Horcrux, and sometimes you will be able to help."

"What! Why?" cried Harry. "No disrespect, Sir, but this is my job, my mission. I have to participate. I  _know_  I have to hunt them. I can have help, but Sirius and I need to be in the heart of the action. I already told you that, it was part of the deal."

The teen now knew what his gut feeling was: it was the magic of the contract with the Dark Angel. There was still a part of him who was apprehensive, though.

"If you insist, my boy. Then, you and Sirius shall start Horcrux hunting in a month-"

"Why in a month, Headmaster?" asked Sirius frostily.

Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Sirius, apparently unhappy to have been interrupted.

"Harry has to return to his family. The wards, albeit extremely weak, are still up even after his temporary death."

And there was the rest of the bad news: he was returning to the Dursleys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3572  
> 08/07/17
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic and it will be finished, so fear not. I have ideas for other fics, but I haven't determined all the details for them yet. I will also translate Through the Veil and back in French later on.
> 
> My maternal language is French, although I lived in England from ages 4 to 7, so I learned English at a very young age. 
> 
> If anyone would like to beta, I would be pleased to have one, especially for grammar points like dialogues. 
> 
> If anyone has tips to give, things they would like to see (no lemons: I will do another fic with them), put it in the reviews or PM me.
> 
> Sorry if anyone didn't like my interpretation of Hestia Jones: in the books we don't really get to know her.  
> Until next time :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


	4. Surprises and Discoveries

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Surely, he wasn’t hearing correctly? Is Dumbledore right in the head? Does he know that April fool’s was a few months ago?  
  
“Wha-But I thought that Harry didn’t have to go back to the Dursleys ever again. I thought that he was going to live with me.” Sirius was gob-smacked.  
  
“Yes, I know, Sirius. Sadly, you are not free yet, and the blood wards still work, so Harry has no choice in going back.” Dumbledore then turned to the still in shock teen. “Please go pack, my boy, we shall leave for your family’s home as soon as possible.”  
  
Even though it was put as a request, Harry knew it was an order and that there was no getting out of this situation. He was going for a month to the Dursleys after only a little over a week of his near death experience. Yay.  
  
Harry sighed sharply while getting up and went around the house, putting everything that belonged to him in his trunk. He decided to leave his Firebolt at Grimmauld Place, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use it at Privet Drive.  
  
All packed, he closed his trunk and shrunk it before slipping it in his pocket, took Hedwig’s cage in one hand and descended to the drawing room, his wand in hand.  
  
It was Dumbledore who remarked his presence first.  
  
“Ah, Harry, my boy. Ready to go?” His voice was filled with joy, too much joy. It was unnatural.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” replied the teen emotionlessly. If Dumbledore found Harry’s tone odd, he did not make it known. Instead, he asked:  
  
“And where is your trunk?”  
  
Harry tapped his pocket and simply said, “Shrunk.”  
  
“Ah, of course. The wonders of magic! Well, come along, we must get you to your Aunt’s, Harry.”  
  
The nearly sixteen year-old boy nodded and put down his owl’s cage to say goodbye to his godfather and Lupin. Before he could get any word out, Harry was enveloped in a tight hug by Sirius, and he hugged back as if to never let go.  
  
“Do you still have the package I gave you last Christmas?” whispered Sirius in his godson’s ear. Harry nodded against his chest. Sirius then said, “Use it. If there is anything wrong, do not hesitate in using it. I swear I won’t be reckless, but you have to promise me you’ll use it.”  
  
Harry yet again nodded against his godfather’s chest, but internally, he promised himself not to use it, unless for an emergency, like a week ago. Sirius pushed him away, but kept him at arm's length, his hands on Harry’s shoulders, and met Harry’s eyes with his own.  
  
“Promise me, Harry,” pressed the animagus, his voice hoarse. Harry shook his head yes, but it didn’t seem to satisfy Sirius. “Swear to me, Harry.”  
  
“I swear, I promise, if there is anything wrong, I’ll contact you.”  
  
The ex-convict smiled warmly, affection and satisfaction present in his striking grey orbs. He nodded a few times, muttering under his breath while bringing Harry flush against his side, as if to protect him from the cruel outside world.  
  
They were comfortable, one against the other.  
  
“Sirius, we must leave,” said Dumbledore with an urgent edge to his tone.  
  
Harry groaned and buried his face deeper into his godfather’s shirt. Ruin the moment, why don’t you!  
  
The next few minutes would be filled with goodbyes, promises to see Harry again soon, take cares and hugs from Lupin and Sirius. Then, with Dumbledore leading the way, he went outside in the cool air of a late June evening.

-oOoOo-

It had only been 47 hours since he was dropped off at the Dursleys and things were already going south.  
  
Dumbledore had used apparition, a magical mean of transportation. It was as if you were being crushed from every possible angle, then shoved through a very tight and small rubber tube, losing almost all use of your senses on the way.  
  
Then, Harry, greatly weakened from the experience, walked a few hundred meters with the Headmaster, only to be abandoned when he was at the door to the Dursley home, his trunk unshrunk, courtesy of Dumbledore.  
  
Apparently, the old wizard had important matters to deal with.  
  
Upon entering the residence, Harry’s relatives were less than happy to see him, and took the teen’s trunk and locked it in the cupboard under the stairs. He was then shooed upstairs to his room and barricaded inside, only permitted out once that night to go to the loo, and even then it was at most five minutes.  
  
It wasn’t so bad, though. They left him alone, even if it was because he was stuck in his room, unable to get out and about.  
  
The next morning was difficult. His sleep was bombarded with nightmares of “what ifs”. He was awake since dawn because of those dreams, and he was grumpy. Extremely grumpy.  
  
So when he was instructed to make breakfast for them, then given a list of chores to do before five o’clock, he was furious. And he told his relatives so.  
  
The only thing he got in response was a backhand.  
  
Since it was still early, around ten past nine, he started with the outside chores, consisting of weeding and watering the garden, mowing the lawn in both back and front yards and painting the fence.  
  
It was lunch time when he was finally done. He went to the kitchen and made sandwiches for lunch for his cousin and aunt, able to get one for himself in the process.  
  
Hedwig came back during lunch time. As she was commanded to only deposit the letter and come back, she didn’t have a response.  
  
In the afternoon, Harry did all the inside chores. He started by vacuuming the whole house. Then, he dusted all surfaces and objects, and then proceeded to clean the floors and surfaces, ending his rubbing by doing the bathrooms.  
  
The teen was in the middle of cooking supper for that night when his uncle, Vernon Dursley, came back from work.  
  
“Boy! Is supper ready?” demanded the beefy man when he entered the home.  
  
Harry sighed inaudibly and responded, “Soon, Uncle Vernon. Less than ten minutes.”  
  
Vernon only grunted in response, and Harry took that as a warning to hurry up. And hurried up he did.  
  
Harry was only given a meek portion compared to the others, and then he was ordered to do the dishes. When he had finished, he was yet again locked into his room with no access to his trunk, meaning no access to his summer homework.  
  
That was yesterday. Today, Harry had to do similar if not identical chores, as Dudley decided to smear dirt around the house.  
  
As the four were eating supper, again cooked by Harry, the doorbell rang.  
  
Vernon exploded, not happy at all that someone had the galls to come to his house at the moment. “Who the blazes would come knocking here at this hour? Boy, go answer the door and tell them we’re not interested.”  
  
Harry quickly got up, not wanting to anger his uncle further. As he was heading towards the entrance, he could hear his uncle ranting about how good, normal people didn’t go around ringing door bells when it was dinner.  
  
Harry opened the door and said, “I’m sorry, but we’re not inter...ested…” he trailed off.  
  
Standing in the entryway was a witch. Her jaw was square shaped and she wore a monocle. She had broad shoulders and her very short grey hair was complemented by deep blue eyes. Luckily, she was dressed in Muggle clothes.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Potter. I am Amelia Bones. You sent me a letter and I thought it more constructive if we were to discuss it over instead of corresponding and worn out our owls.” She stretched her hand for Harry to take and he hastily shook it.  
  
The teen looked nervously over his shoulder. “I, euh, I would invite you in, but we are dining, so I think it would be better to go to the park to talk, if you do not mind.”  
  
Madam Bones shook her head. “No, not at all. Lead the way,” she replied, side stepping to give room for Harry to step forward and bring them to the playground.  
  
He bit his lip, took a glimpse at the Dursleys, and then walked outside, closing the door quietly as he went.  
  
They made their way to the park in silence, Madam Bones walking next to Harry. As they arrived, the soon-to-be sixteen year-old indicated for Madam Bones to take a seat on the bench, and he sat beside her once she was seated.  
  
“Mr. Potter, in your letter, you reported many crimes. I do not have proof concerning Dolores Umbridge, as she well hid her traces. Although, you wrote that you have the memories of the detentions and quill, and that you also have the scar made by said quill.”  
  
“Please, Madam Bones, if we are to work together, call me Harry.”  
  
“Well, then, I must insist you call me Amelia.”  
  
“Right, Mada-Amelia.” He said nothing more, opting to only show his hand to Amelia. She took it quickly yet gently, and gasped when she saw the engraved words. Disgust, shock and rage filled her forbidding features.  
  
“She is a foul woman. She will pay for this. As you may now know, a Black Quill is a dark magical object shy of being an unforgivable, and mostly only used in formal documents such as Wills, inheritances and marriage contracts.”  
  
Harry only nodded, indicating to her that he was listening. She continued.  
  
“What most people don’t know, though, is that these quills are thoroughly controlled by the Ministry, and only Gringotts are allowed to make use of them. If there is some within the Ministry of Magic, it would be the Minister who has total control of them and they are placed in a Fidelius Charmed vault, with the Minister as Secret Keeper. Even then, there would be only two or three, and the Minister is not allowed to touch them.”  
  
It clicked. “So the only way for Umbridge to have one is by either stealing the goblins, which is nigh to impossible, or by having been told the secret by our very own Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge.”  
  
Well, that’s convenient. With that information and proof, Fudge could be put out of office.  
  
Amelia released his hand and Harry let it fall on his lap.  
  
“Next point, the Dementors,” said Harry. “If you have already found nothing, then I doubt anyone will find anything else. The only way to prove it would be if - when - Umbridge is on trial, and someone questions her on the Dementors.” Amelia nodded.  
  
“Another possibility would be that you give up your memories, but you cannot use them for everything, it makes you lose credit,” added Amelia. “We would be able to bring her in front of the Wizengamot if we were to prove that she did indeed use, or almost use, the Cruciatus. Were there-”  
  
“She has witnesses, there were close to ten other people in the room,” announced Harry excitedly, cutting her off in the process. The witch smiled.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, the square-jawed witch going over the notes she probably took when reading his letter. “The charms you put on the letter were clever. Way past NEWT level charms and bordering Dark magic, but clever,” she commented.  
  
Harry muttered a quick “Thanks” with an upward quirk of the lips. He then smirked. “Have you figured out the name Tom Marvolo Riddle yet?”  
  
The grey haired woman scowled. “No, I haven’t. I researched the name, his family, but nothing really out of the ordinary came out. What is so special with it?”  
  
Harry chuckled lightly. “I’ll give you a hint. It is an anagram. Don’t figure it now; though send me a letter when you have the answer.”  
  
They continued talking about Harry’s letter, about Sirius Black, Pettigrew, Fudge and Umbridge, and the sun was almost set when they finally made their way to the Dursley residence.  
  
“It was nice talking with you, Harry,” Amelia said when they were on the porch to his relatives’ home. “I’ll contact you the moment I have more information on Sirius Black, Umbridge and Tom Marvolo Riddle.”  
  
Harry smiled. “I shall await your owl then.” They shook hands, said farewell, and the teen waited for her to disapparate before turning to the door and opening it.  
  
He sneaked his way up to his room, hoping that he would not get caught by his relatives. It was no such luck, though, because his uncle was sitting on his bed in his room, obviously waiting for him.  
  
Uncle Vernon, his face already purple, started on Harry immediately, shouting that he is past curfew and “How dare you leave the house, we had not finished eating! You still had chores to do!”.  
  
It was one of Harry’s longest lectures, and he wisely took it without complaining, lest he wanted to have a greater punishment; he had already been backhanded thrice, he didn’t need more hits to his already weak body.  
  
He was being shoved against the wall repeatedly, and he banged his head a fair few times. His uncle was still bellowing profanities.  
  
Harry was barely paying attention, lost in his thoughts. He could feel the bruises forming, mostly on his upper back and his cheeks. The massive headache he was sure to have tomorrow wasn’t going to help him do his chores, as he could already feel pressure behind his eyes.  
  
Then, the teen snapped out of his thoughts as he heard words he never thought he would hear.  
  
“-lcome here! This place isn’t your home anymore!”  
  
His blood ran cold. No. No, no, no. It was impossible. His uncle hadn’t just said those words. He couldn’t have. The protection he had also applied to his relatives. That sentence couldn’t have gotten out of his mouth.  
  
‘But it had’, Harry realised as he felt the wards around the house fall slowly. It felt like he was going through a waterfall, although the water was really slow.  
  
Harry couldn’t believe it. He was numb as he pushed passed his uncle, ignoring his offended stuttering and spit out insults. He muttered that he was leaving when his uncle questioned what he was doing.  
  
He quickly descended the stairs, fell the last few, and headed towards the cupboard under the stairs, where his trunk was locked in.  
  
The teen picked the lock efficiently and dragged out his trunk, opening it at once and taking out his wand and two cloaks: one normal, which he put around himself, and one who could render people under it invisible, which he put in his pocket.  
  
In the cupboard, he took the baby blanket he hid in it and the few toy soldiers left and put them in his trunk. He hurried upstairs, Uncle Vernon reassuring Aunt Petunia, and took everything he wanted to keep in his hands, which consisted of a few pictures, his photo album, books he really liked and whatnots.  
  
Hedwig was out hunting, luckily. He tapped the cage once with his wand and it shrunk: a special feature he made Sirius install earlier on.  
  
He could hear his aunt’s shrill voice demanding what was happening, and the beefy man gaily answering that she need not fret and that “the boy is leaving and never coming back”.  
  
Harry went down the stairs as fast as he could, threw what he had in his hands in his open trunk and kicked the lid close, locking his trunk. His aunt couldn’t have been paler. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one knowing the consequences to Uncle Vernon’s words.  
  
He hurried outside of the house, his trunk’s handle in his hand, and quickly went to the side of the street, calling, to his dismay, the Knight Bus. It appeared a fraction of a second later, and he hastened to get on the purple, triple-decker bus.  
  
He was greeted as “Neville Longbottom”, and Harry cried at Stan for him to get a move on and bring him to the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
Stan Shunpike was about to ask why, clearly insulted, when multiple apparition cracks could be heard and close to a dozen people clad in black robes with silver masks made themselves known.  
  
Stan needn’t be told twice, and the bus took off, resulting in angry and scared Death Eaters, for their Lord won’t appreciate their failing to capture him.  
  
It was silent in the Knight Bus as both regained their senses. Both had shallow and heavy breathing, and had a vacant look in their drooping orbs.  
  
It was Stan who talked first.  
  
“We-Were fose Deaf Eaters?” he worked out.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry replied, his mind still blown by the events that had occurred. How could everything go wrong? Less than two hours ago, he was still talking to Mad-Amelia about the missive he had sent while still at Grimmauld Place.  
  
Sirius! It completely escaped Harry’s mind. His godfather was probably going spare right now: no doubt were there monitoring charms at Privet Drive placed by Dumbledore.  
  
No one said anything until the bus arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
“Stan?” Harry questioned. The conductor only nodded, indicating that he was listening.  
  
Harry continued. “If there is anyone giving you grief, and by anyone I mean Death Eaters, you are to tell them the truth.” Stan looked sharply at this, clearly not expecting that.  
  
Harry cut off the man when he opened his mouth to talk. “No, listen. I do not want you or your passengers hurt. Just continue living as if nothing happened, but if Death Eaters ask about my whereabouts, tell them everything you know, okay?”  
  
The teen said this firmly, but internally he was pleading. He didn’t want any more people hurt because of him. His relatives were most probably being tortured if not dead, and Harry could do nothing to help them.  
  
Stan nodded in defeat, realizing that his and his passengers’ safety was important, and he knew that the Potter heir was capable of defending himself. Harry clapped him on the shoulder and descended off the bus.  
  
“I believe you.” Stan said it so quietly that Harry would’ve sworn he imagined it if not for the look the conductor gave him. The Knight Bus left with its trademark bang, and the teen was alone with his trunk in front of the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was always busy but, as it was the middle of the night, Harry hoped it would be quieter.

The teen pushed open the door of the building discretely and saw that there was only a few people, and most of them were drunk and passed out. He ducked his head, bringing his cloak tighter around him, and made his way towards the entrance to Diagon Alley. He counted the bricks, and with his wand tapped the one that opened that passage.  
  
The Alley didn’t have much movement; it was late, close to midnight. A few people here and there doing late-night errands, collecting ordered clothes.

Harry sighed and made his way to Gringotts, smiling lightly, content to not have the public’s attention, for once.  

He entered the bank, and as it was Goblin territory, he would be safe there to write a letter to his godfather so that someone would come and get him. Putting his trunk sideways, he sat on it, waiting for his owl to return.  
  
He waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
He took in the burnished bronze doors and the white stone steps leading to the Alley, the silver doors with the engraved words, the vast marble hall and all the doors leading off the hall.  
  
A hundred or so goblins were sitting on high stools behind a lengthy counter, and great snowy-white pillars could be admired. It was completely silent except for the creatures manipulating objects, scribbling on parchment, and the footsteps made by living beings.

He sighed contently, hypnotized by such beauty.  
  
He sat almost half an hour, to no avail. No one had come to get him yet, and the goblins were starting to notice him: glimpses, side glances, discreet pointing, muttering.  
  
Then, a goblin approached him, and Harry recognized him from his very first trip to Gringotts. It was Griphook.  
  
“Follow me,” he directed sharply. Harry knew that tone of voice. It was a “no nonsense” tone, so he got up, picked up his trunk and followed the goblin, who brought him to a room with gold inscribed letters on the door.

**Sharptooth**

**Account manager**

Griphook told him to sit and that his account manager will be there shortly. The teen obeyed him, wondering why an account manager would want to see him. And did the goblin say “his”? As in, an account manager managing his accounts? Accounts as in plural?  
  
His musings were interrupted as someone cleared its throat. Harry looked up and saw a goblin he had never seen before sitting in front of him, behind the table between them. The teen deduced he was Sharptooth.  
  
“Heir Potter, good of you to come to Gringotts. You should have asked for me when you first entered the bank, it would’ve spared you some time.”  
  
Harry had stopped listening at “Heir Potter”.  
  
“Excuse me, but what do you mean by “Heir Potter”?” Harry asked, incredulous. He wasn’t an heir. The only occasion where an heir can be found is when there is a Lord.  
  
And there weren’t any Lords in the Wizarding World.  
  
“You ought to know by now of your status as Gringotts have sent you many missives: one per month since your seventh birthday.” The goblin pinned Harry with a glare that made him shiver.  
  
The teen was nervous. If Sharptooth decided that Harry has offended the goblin nation, they can confiscate his vault and bar his entry to Gringotts in the future, leaving him penniless.  
  
It was some information he had stored away in his mind when in History of Magic, knowing it would be useful later on.  
  
Carefully weighing his words, Harry corrected the account manager.  
  
“I am sorry, Mr. Sharptooth, but I have never received any correspondence and I do not know of my status.”    
  
The goblin’s furry eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he asked as if talking to a young child, “You do not know, Heir Potter, of your family’s history and place within the Wizarding community?”  
  
“No,” responded Harry frankly.  
  
Sharptooth furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. “It does not matter for now..” he started slowly. “I think… yes, it is better… ah, yes, now where is it?”  
  
The goblin kept muttering to himself, searching the ledger on the table Harry hadn’t seen before, spreading many documents. Then, he seized a blank yellow parchment and took out from inside his coat a small, sharp, silver knife with a leather handle.  
  
As Sharptooth placed the parchment in front of Harry, he briefed the teen. “This, Heir Potter, is an inheritance test.” Sharptooth placed the knife next to the parchment. “You need only to prick a finger with the knife and let fall thirteen drops of blood on this parchment. And do not worry about the blood being used elsewhere: once in it, the blood is trapped and cannot be utilized.”  
  
Harry hesitated. Should he do it? It was implied that whatever magic this is, it would reveal his family history, his legacy.  
  
He slowly picked up the knife and examined it. The silver was most probably pure and goblin made, and the leather wasn’t really leather. It looked like… Basilisk skin? It was black and scaly, just like Dragon hide, though it was smoother, silkier.  
  
The blade was close to three inches with the base larger, creating a triangle form. It was sharp and deadly looking.  
  
He brought the tip of the blade to his pointer finger and pricked it with the knife. Immediately, blood came out, and the thirteen required drops fell onto the parchment, the wound healing itself afterwards.  
  
The account manager took the parchment and went over it, his expression remaining impassive. He cleared his throat and addressed Harry, handing him the results of the inheritance test.  
  
“Heir.. Potter, I suggest you take a look for yourself.” Harry took the offered results, and his eyebrows shot in his fringe, his eyes becoming as large as saucers.  
  
The results couldn’t be right. They just couldn’t. He was Harry, just Harry. These results had to be wrong.  
  
“I assure you, Heir Potter, that these results are by no doubt right.”  
  
He groaned, letting his head fall back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4110
> 
> 16/07/17
> 
> Sorry for the late update. Stuff came up. Difficult chapter to write.
> 
> It was difficult making this chapter flow. Take note that this story won’t be a Super!Harry one. Also, I sort of ignored that the Potter family isn’t part of the Sacred 28, so bear with me. I am sure I am not the only one bypassing that information.   
> I also changed a few things in the last chapter, but none really easily remarkable.
> 
> I have started translating this story in French, and it is long. All the French Harry Potter terms that I don’t ever use, like ‘Dolores Ombrage’, it is madness. For example, there is no term for obliviated or stupefied or crucioed. It is always “he got hit by the Cruciatus Curse” or “all his memories were suppressed/erased by ...” (in French though). I do not know how people read Harry Potter in French. I hope I’m not vexing or insulting anyone, not my goal. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


	5. Starting Over

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.

He was the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell.

Harry felt like laughing maniacally. All this time, looking around, wondering to whom belonged Peverell Manor, and the answer was the one he never suspected.

He even suspected Hermione to be a long lost heir to the Peverells.

Being heir to the Peverells was not the only thing that surprised him. For one, being the Black heir apparent. Another would be the Potter heir, but that one didn't surprise him too much: he had heard it many times over the years, but he had only thought of it as him being the last of the Potters, not as a future Lord.

The last one actually made him laugh maniacally. "Heir to House Slytherin by conquest".

When asked what was so funny, he declared that everyone at Hogwarts was right at one point: he really is, and was, the Heir of Slytherin. He was answered by a feral grin.

Sharptooth then launched himself into a long lecture, informing Harry of what everything the test revealed meant.

His main House was Potter, as it is his last name. Next were Black, then Peverell, then Slytherin.

He was the Black heir apparent because his Godfather was Lord Black and was named him his heir. Although, he isn't the official Black heir by blood as the last Black in his family was his Grandmother Dorea.

And for him to be eligible by blood, a true Black, one of his parents had to be a Black.

Hence, the apparent.

He was the Heir of Slytherin by conquest because he defeated Voldemort when he was young, when he was in his first and second year, and finally in his fourth year, though that time it was more of an escape than a defeat. Harry had also, fought off Voldemort from his mind less than two weeks ago.

Apparently, his ancestors were the Peverells as Iolanthe Peverell, the eldest granddaughter of Ignotus Peverell, married Hardwin Potter. She had inherited the Invisibility Cloak from her grandfather, which is why Harry has it in his possession.

Each pure-blood Family has many vaults but, as he was only the heir and was underage, he didn't have access to them. He could only get into his trust vault, which is a vault his Lord of House has opened.

In the House of Black, it was Sirius. In the Potter family, it was his father before he died. Had he been a Lestrange, it would've been Lord Rudolphus.

No Lord or Lord Regent, no trust vault opening.

Then Sharptooth explained the Magiks. The Magiks was the affinity of the House. For example, wizards and witches in House Peverell only had either a grey or a dark affinity.

People in House Longbottom had only light magic, and as the Dark Arts were routed to their very core, the Blacks had dark magic, no questions or doubt.

Harry was then informed that every house had a Crest, and that Crest contained the House Animal, which was the physical manifestation of the Magiks.

For the Potters, it was a Griffin, the Blacks' Animal was a Raven, Slytherin's was, of course, a Basilisk, and the Peverells had a Thestral.

Each House had many properties, as they had been accumulated throughout the years. Most wizards put in a home in their daughter's dowry for the newlyweds to live in.

Of course, every Most Ancient and Noble House had an incredible history, but as it would take too much time to narrate, Sharptooth only gave Harry some books and told him to ask his godfather about his history. No doubt would Sirius know of it, or where to learn it, as he had lived with the Potters for a while.

Then came the specialties.

"A Specialty, Heir Potter, is the branch of magic the House focuses in. For the Longbottoms, it is Occlumency and Legilimency, as one had to have strong shields to resist the Cruciatus Curse for so long.

"For the Gaunts, it is Necromancy, which is why the Dark Lord Voldemort has such facility with creating and controlling inferi, and making Horcruxes."

Harry's eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Sharptooth talked. "Yes, Gringotts knows about it. We shall discuss the Horcruxes another day, if you will."

The teen closed his mouth shut, his mind whirling with questions and theories. How did they know about the Horcruxes? It certainly wasn’t something Voldemort was screaming on top of roofs for everyone to hear. 

Even his most loyal follower would defect his ranks if he were to learn about his Lord’s secret, as it is the worst thing one could do. Even some of the most insane of witches and wizards would be disgusted by what Voldemort did to ensure his immortality.

A sharp voice, which had sounded like it was from underwater, was getting louder and louder.

"-cks it is the Dark Arts in general, although-"

"What about the Dark Arts?" interrupted Harry, now back in the present.

"We were discussing the specialisation of each House. Please pay attention, Heir Potter." The goblin shot the teen with a sharp glare.

"Right. Sorry."

Sharptooth nodded, accepting his apology. "As I was saying, for the Peverells and Blacks it is the Dark Arts in general, although the former excels in wandless magic, even in the womb, and the latter is an expert in the afterlife.

"Another good example would be the Princes and the Potters. The Princes can brew potions from the cradle, and you could not find wizards more habile of their hands and minds than the Potters, and their gift with transfiguration and arithmancy obviously helps them.

"Slytherin, of course, specialises in Parselmagic, which requires the speech of Parseltongue, the language of the serpents."

Harry understood. Not everything, but the important points. It was a lot to take in, and no doubt would Sirius need to help him to process everything. Hell, he had properties all over the world, and he was filthy rich. Apparently, he was richer than the Malfoys. And to say he thought himself penniless half his life.

"Now," Sharptooth continued after a few minutes to let the young boy digest the information. "It has been a good hour and a half since you arrived, and I can see that you are starting to feel tired." As if to prove his point, Harry yawned widely, covering his mouth with his hand as he did so.

"Also, I suggest you go now, as the Alley is least occupied at this time of the night, and spend a few hundred, or thousand, Galleons for a complete do-over." The goblin pointed at Harry's hand-me-down clothes. "Those clothes are completely improper for someone of your rank."

Harry looked down and observed his clothes, a bit embarrassed. The teen nodded slowly, and the account manager gave him a pouch. "This pouch is directly linked to your trust vault. You can take out any sum, and no other person can get money out, so you need not worry about thief."

"Thank you, Mr. Sharptooth. I will be on my way." Harry got up, extending his hand to the small creature in front of him.

The goblin shook the offered hand, and then escorted the young heir to the silver doors with the message to come see them soon. The teen's trunk was shrunk, courtesy to Sharptooth, and he thanked the account manager one last time before exiting the bank, his mind blown by all the information he acquired.

-oOoOo-

Heir Harrison James Potter, upon exiting  _Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos_  in Knockturn Alley, was the proud owner of four tattoos: a large Thestral on his left side, a Griffin and a Raven entwining on his right lower shin, a Basilisk wrapped around the length of his right upper arm and the fourth being a Grim, Wolf and Stag, who had lilies on his antlers, playing together in his lower back.

All of them were perfectly made, down to the grey eyes and black fur of the Grim to the bony body and wings of the Thestral. The Stag had the same markings of his dad's animagus form, and the auburn lilies were delicate but strong. The green Basilisk was just as impressive as the one he encountered in the Chamber of Secrets, and the Raven and Griffin were identical to their House representation.

The colours were vivid and realistic for each and every one of the inked shapes who looked like they were in three dimensions. Of course, right now they were wrapped in gauze, and they will continue to be wrapped in gauze for the next few days.

It had cost him money, close to six hundred Galleons, time and endurance, for it had been painful towards the end, but it had been worth it.

The green-eyed, soon-to-be sixteen year-old exited the dark Alley and made his way towards Madam Malkin's to change his wardrobe completely; or more exactly, to get himself a wardrobe, as he never had one.

Harry strolled down the almost empty Alley in the moonlight, noting in the back of his mind shops that ought to be worth his time:  _Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment_ ,  _Scribbulus Writing Instruments_ ,  _Third Hand Book Emporium_ ,  _Flourish and Blotts_ ,  _Twilfitt and Tattings_ …

 _Twilfitt and Tattings_. Harry had heard of this shop before: Sirius had mentioned it. He had qualified it as an "upper class store for uptight pure-bloods". Of course, his godfather was being a hypocrite at that moment, as he loved their clothes and would only buy from their store.

Maybe, he would buy his whole wardrobe from that shop. He deserved, and needed, new clothes.

Apparently, the stores in the Wizarding were always open, because every shop he passed still had light and someone in them.

The teen could hear a few owls hooting softly and crickets chirping loudly as he arrived in front of Madam Malkin's and pushed open the door, making a bell ring as he did so.

A small, skinny woman could be seen fitting school robes to a tall, dark-skinned boy. He too looked as if he had grown a few inches.

"Hello?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Be right there!" said the woman. Harry nodded and sat down on the bench, waiting for her to have finished.

He was restless, fidgeting with his wand in his pocket as he looked around the shop with his head, spotting possible exits. Who was that boy, the one being fitted? Harry had already seen him a few times at Hogwarts, but he couldn't put a name to his face.

He wasn't a Gryffindor; otherwise Harry would've remembered him, his name. He didn't look like a Hufflepuff, and seemed to be of the same age as himself. Maybe was he a Ravenclaw? Or  _Slytherin_?

Harry's brows furrowed. Why was he, even in his head, bad-mouthing Slytherin House, sneering at their thought?

Harry saw that the tanned teen had cocked his head slightly to the side, observing him. He was finished, so he descended from the stool and walked to the sitting heir, stopping in front of him, extending his hand.

"Blaise Zabini," he said neutrally. "Slytherin." Harry hesitated before shaking the offered hand and presenting himself.

"Harry Potter, Gryffindor."

Blaise only smirked in response and inclined his head towards the now free stool. Harry nodded in respect and got up and walked to the stool situated near the middle of the shop, immediately getting fitted for a new uniform.

A bell rang, indicating that Blaise Zabini left the store. That was… particular. Obviously, Blaise Zabini knew him and his opinions, yet he still presented himself to him. Why? Was there some kind of ulterior motive?

Speaking of ulterior motive, where in Merlin's beard is Dumbledore? His mother's protection fell and still no one came to get him. Normally, there is always an Order member guarding him, so why hasn't anyone picked him up yet?

It had been three hours since he had left the Dursleys for good. There was no way Dumbledore hadn't realized that he was missing. If Voldemort's army, his Death Eaters, had apparated to his ex-home within five minutes after the wards fell, so could The Order of the Phoenix.

A tap on the shoulder made him look down to see the woman finished with fitting his clothes. "They will be done in an hour, come pick them up later," she said, so Harry took his leave after paying the price requested, which was 42 Galleons instead of 15, because he requested the Potter Crest under his Gryffindor one.

Leaving the shop, he decided to head towards  _Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment_  to get himself a new trunk, as his old one was not in the best of states.

This time, though, no one was in the store except for him and the employee, so he had a quick service. He spent close to half an hour looking at trunks with the aid of Miss Cista Lorem before finally finding the perfect one.

It was a hazelnut colour, and had a very secure protection system: it could be opened by either a password in any language, Harry had chosen it to be in Parseltongue, or a few drops of his blood. His new trunk had three compartments consisting of a library, a wardrobe and a secret one, which required a password or blood as well.

It cost him 146 Galleons and 7 sickles, but it was worth it.

In  _Scribbulus Writing Instruments,_ Harry bought many quills, a lot of parchment and different ink colours for 23 Galleons and 6 Knuts.

 _Third Hand Book Emporium_  and  _Flourish and Blotts_ sold him many books on Wizarding Law, Politics, Houses, and the Wizengamot. Unfortunately, they didn't have any books on his family history - called a Grimoire, he learned - as they were kept secret, just like any other families' Grimoires.

The employees at both places recommended him to talk to his Magical Guardian, as he or she probably has his Grimoire for safe keeping and to know how to bring him up.

It would seem that the women in the stores felt bad about the "poor orphan boy" not being able to know his family, so they recommended him  _J. Pippin's Potions_ , a shop who could supposedly help him.

Dubious, Harry paid a bit over 20 Galleons for all his books, though he still headed the advice, making way to the suggested store. What Harry saw was breathtaking.

The whole store sold only potions, from the  _Cure for Boils_  to the  _Wolfsbane Potion_. The potions couldn't be seen, only images and names plastered everywhere on the walls.

Time for an early Christmas, or late birthday, present for Lupin.

The teen prepared his pouch and determinedly went to the counter to get help. The man behind looked to be in his sixties, with a balding, grey head and a rather large belly.

"How may I help you?" the store owner asked.

"Is it possible to buy a… coupon, of some sorts, for an endless supply to the  _Wolfsbane_  potion?"

Harry held his breath as the older man lifted his head sharply, who patently surprised by his request.

He answered slowly, suspicious, "Yes, you can, though it is not common knowledge. How did you know?"

"I, euh, I thought of special Muggle coupons, and thought that there might be some available in the Wizarding World." The teen bit his lip.

The man gazed at Harry long enough for him to become uncomfortable. He then nodded, clearly accepting him.

Opening a drawer of his desk and taking out a slip of parchment, he asked, "And to whom would this coupon be addressed to?"

"A family friend." Harry did not want to give away Lupin's identity.

"Any name you give will be kept secret; charms are in place to make sure: nobody can force the information out of the buyer, the receiver and the writer."

The Potter heir hesitated. "No one else will know, not even the other employees here," The elder said, locking his blue orbs with Harry's  _Avada Kedavra_  green, a mark of confidence.

"Remus Lupin."

"Middle name?"

"John." The writer nodded and tapped his wand to the parchment.

"There, all done. It is indestructible. If, surprisingly, it does get destroyed, I have a copy here. The same charms I described earlier are embedded in the slips, so no worries."

Harry nodded thickly, putting the slip to safety, and was just about to say thank you when the elder spoke. "Now, do you want the Oculus Potion to rid you of your horrible eyesight and stop you from wearing glasses?"

Harry, stupefied, his eyes wide, made a very good impression of a fish. It took him a few minutes to regain his senses. Shaking his head in disbelief, he exclaimed. "I-Wha..You can do that? There's a potion to cure bad eyesight?"

The other man looked at him weirdly. "There is a potion for almost everything nowadays. Aren't you the famous "Chosen One"? Shouldn't you know of these things?"

Harry waved him off. "I was Muggle-raised," he said, as if it could explain his ignorance. By the looks of it, it was enough, as the owner made a face and did not comment any further.

He went into the back shop, where all the potions were probably stocked. He came back a minute or two later carrying a rack of small bottles containing a deep orange concoction.

"There are seven bottles. You must take one every day at the same time, and forget the seconds, they do not count. But I warn you now; this does not only help your eyesight, it will better your senses, all of them. Do you still want it?"

Harry shook his head without hesitation. Yes, yes he wants the potion. No more glasses. No more danger of losing or breaking them in an "adventure".

"Very well," the seller said. "There are charms on the rack and bottles; whatever you do with them, they will not break or get loose. If they do, come back, show the evidence, and I'll give you a new rack."

The elder made a few quick calculations before announcing the price. "I hope you have money, kid. It will cost you 3021 Galleons, 4 Sickles and 12 Knuts."

The teen whispered the number to his pouch, and then plunged his hand in it, bringing out a smaller pouch with  _3022G_  engraved on the side. He gave it to the seller with a muttered "Keep the change" before taking the boxed rack and leaving the shop, a blinding smile on his face.

Harry took a few steps outside, in the moonlight, before going straight back inside to the old man.

"Could you shrink my boxes and bags, please?" The youth was only halfway through the polite demand when his things were shrunk.

The other chuckled, obviously having known that Harry would ask the question. He waved off the young boy and his bright smile.

Now free of charge and with the sun starting to rise, shining brightly and illuminating Diagon Alley, Harry decided to buy himself a dark chocolate and mango ice cream in a bowl. As always, he got it for free, and he thanked Mr. Fortescue and left towards his last stop after finishing it.

Harry finally arrived at  _Twilfitt and Tattings_ to have his "pure-blood Lord" wardrobe made. He was told to step on the stool and asked what he wanted.

"I would need a complete heir and Lord Wardrobe for each of these Houses," Harry said, handing the man a slip of parchment with the names scribbled on it, names which will be obliviated from his mind the moment Harry said "thank you", courtesy of the goblins. "I would also need pyjamas, trousers, shirts, dress shirts, button-up shirts, pants, socks, open and closed robes, cloaks, shoes, and boots."

The man's brown eyes grew as wide as saucers before gaining his wits and starting fitting him, asking Harry questions while doing so.

"What type of material would you like to have?"

Harry hesitated before answering. "The best... the most comfortable. Dragon hide for the shoes."

"Colours?" the man inquired.

"For formal closed and open robes, family House colours. Same for half the dress shirts, shirts, button-ups, cloaks, and trousers. The other half of the dress shirts, shirts, button-ups, cloaks, and trousers will be in pastels and greys, as will be the casual open robes and half of the pyjama sets. The other half of the pyjamas, socks and underwear will be in Gryffindor and Slytherin colours, and some trousers and shirts will be plain black," Harry said after pondering for a few minutes.

"Crest?"

No hesitation or pondering here. "Left breast for every shirt and robe, on the back for cloaks, on the left thigh for underwear and trousers and on the top for socks."

"Dragon hide for shoes and boots, we only have Chinese Firebolt and Hungarian Horntail," The fitter said.

"Hungarian Horntail for everything." Oh, the irony.

"What do you want and how many pairs?"

"Three pairs of everyday shoes and two pairs of dress shoes, ankle boots and mid-calf boots."

The older man nodded and finished taking his measures before informing Harry that his robes will be ready in about thirty minutes. The teen nodded and let the man know that he would be back shortly, then left the store.

There were more and more people in the brighter Alley, flooing into shops, apparating at the Alley's apparition spots, opening the Leaky Cauldron's passage. Stalls selling amulets against the Dark Arts were being installed as the new day started.

Picking up his new robes, Harry asked what time it was, and he was surprised to know that it was close to six o'clock. It meant that it had been over five hours since he started shopping, spending half that time getting tattooed.

Deciding that he had to be quick before anyone recognized him, Harry sped his pace to find refuge in  _Twilfitt and Tattings_. As it hadn't even been 15 minutes since he left to get his uniform, he sat in the chair, waiting for them to be made.

Hedwig was still nowhere to be seen. Harry wondered if his owl was okay. At first, back at the Dursleys, Harry, in his rush, had thought that she was out hunting, but now, she was probably off getting letters from his friends or contacting others for help. His owl was that intelligent.

Harry's attention was caught when he told his clothes were ready, and he hurriedly took the boxes and paid 257 Galleons, 14 Sickles and 26 Knuts. He clearly said, "Thank you" and left the shop.

The Alley was now lively, the time being past six am. The teen's shopping spree had hit a hitch, though: he had no idea where he was going to sleep. He could always try Grimmauld Place, but Harry's wasn't in the mood to explain everything that happened just yet.

But then, someone passed by him: a tall, slim boy with a ring with an animal and a letter on top of the creature. It gave him the perfect idea to where to sleep.

Sliding into a back street, Harry looked at his Heir ring, and whispered the words "Deathly Hallows". He felt the familiar pull in his navel as he was portkeyed away to his new… Property? Home?

Of course, the Potter Heir fell on the floor at his arrival. Getting up, the teen walked to the window and looked through it and, true enough, he was at Peverell Manor, Scotland. The garden was identical to the one he saw on the other side, again proving Death right.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of a bed. But not just any bed: a king size, four poster bed with no curtains, with silver and light plum coloured covers and sheets, with beautiful designs on them.

Three big, fluffy pillows were available for Harry to use, and even from where he was standing, which was a good five feet distance, he could already feel the mattress, the coziness of it.

Without him realizing it, his eyes were drooping and, only taking off his trainers and socks, staying in his hand-me-downs, Harry slipped under the covers and fell asleep in a heartbeat, his last thought being that he would finally have a good night's, or day's, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4078
> 
> 26/07/17
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)  
> More of a filler chapter, I know, and it was my first experience writing a chapter like this one, with shopping and all.  
> Let me know what you think of this chapter in the reviews: if there are words missing, ameliorations to propose, if you have any requests, ideas. :)
> 
> “With daddy away in Italy trying to catch sparkly vampires I’m glad I will be spending Christmas with… friends.” -Luna Lovegood in For whom the Bell tolls
> 
> Just to clarify things, these are the hours:
> 
> Arrives at the Dursleys at 10 pm.  
> Leaves the Dursleys at 11 pm.  
> 11:15 pm at Gringotts.  
> 11:30 pm at Sharptooth.  
> 1:00 am at tattoo.  
> 3:30 am at Madam Malkin’s.  
> 3:45 am at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment.  
> 4:15 am at Scribbulus Writing Instruments.  
> 4:30 am at Flourish and Blotts.  
> 4:40 am at Third Hand Book Emporium.  
> 4:50 am at J. Pippin's Potions.  
> 5:00 am at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.  
> 5:20 am at Twilfitt and Tattings.  
> 5:40 am at Madam Malkin’s.  
> 5:50 am at Twilfitt and Tattings.  
> 6:15 am in Alley.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


	6. Trials

Lord Voldemort was sitting in his throne in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor, his snake draped around his shoulders, observing the walrus, pig and horse in front of him.

It had taken his followers close to eight hours before they returned with the three Muggles, but with no Harry Potter.

From what Voldemort could decipher from their screams as he held them under the Cruciatus, his followers had searched everywhere for hours to find the Potter brat, they had tortured the relatives, only to find nothing and to come back empty handed.

Or almost.

The three Muggles they brought back were kneeling in front of him, sometimes glancing at each other in what they thought was a subtle way. Their hands were bound by an _incarcerous_ behind their back. His inner circle surrounded him and them.

Voldemort tilted his head almost imperceptibly, theories wandering in his head.

“Where is Harry Potter?”

The large man did not answer: his face turning from red to dark purple at the mention of his nephew was enough of a response. Interesting.

“Do you not care for your nephew? Last I heard, he was treated like a prince,” Voldemort said mockingly.

The Muggles had the decency not to respond to him.

The Dark Lord nodded to himself, his eyes glazed in thought. His proposal could work. If they agreed to respect him and all his followers, if they agreed to stay on their best behaviour, it could work.

Voldemort schooled his features after grinning ferally to himself, and spoke up. “I have a… proposal, for you three.”

The red-eyed man inhaled, and then exhaled, as if he was gathering his thoughts to propose something incredibly difficult, and the Muggles started squirming at the sight.

“You have a choice; I shall not force you. The first option is for me - us - to torture information out of you. Obviously, you do not have some; otherwise you would’ve already spoken, so that option seems stupid to take.” Here he paused, a disturbing grin stretched on his face, letting what he said get comprehended by the family.

“The other choice you have is to join us. You will not be granted the privilege of receiving the Dark Mark, my mark, but you will be respected by my followers, and you will respect them. You will be on your best behaviour. You will speak when spoken or given permission to; you shall always speak politely and with respect.”

It was silent. The whole room was silent. His inner circle had stopped moving, some even had stopped breathing for a few seconds before taking a few breaths, all of which were now near silent, and Nagini ceased hissing and moving.

Each and every one of his followers were looking at him as if he had said that he and Dumbledore were in fact allies. They had all heard of how Harry Potter was pampered like a prince, and how he was ungrateful of the treatment he received, wanting more. So why would their Lord want his family to join them if they loved each other? Their Lord’s words were soon justified.

“We have an enemy in common,” Voldemort hissed. Turning to Petunia Dursley, he spoke, “We both know what happened tonight for my followers to be able to get to your home. Your husband probably kicked the brat out, thinking it was an excellent idea, and it was… for us.” He cackled softly after his sentence.

“By doing so,” he continued, “he nullified the Blood Wards protecting Potter and your family. I can offer you protection and a good life.” He extended his hand, looked into the horse’s eyes, and waited.

He could see the hesitation in her blue orbs. “S-Sir? Yo-you promise that no h-harm will befall my family and me?” Voldemort simply nodded in response.

“Yes, we’ll join you,” Mrs. Dursley said with a small voice after a pregnant pause.

The Dark Lord grinned menacingly, immense joy filling him, and then bellowed, “Gentlemen! Prepare the tables; we have three new followers to celebrate!”

-oOoOo-

Harry woke up that morning with beads of cold sweat running down his neck and spine, trembling madly and afraid.

Voldemort was happy. And the last, and only, time he had been joy filled was when he conducted the mass breakout of Azkaban just a few months ago. The night of that event, Harry didn’t know why the Dark Lord was happy, he just knew. He had only learned later that morning, when the _Daily Prophet_ announced the escape.

Harry remembered what had happened at the meeting this morning: Voldemort crucioing his Death Eaters, the offer made to the Dursleys, offer his aunt Petunia had accepted on behalf of her family, all of it.

The fact that the Dursleys had joined Voldemort was terrifying. Harry had lived with them for 15 years, almost his whole life, and had it not been for people talking and them going to prison, Harry’s treatment at their hand would have been a hundred times worse.

Now, Harry feared how they would become. He feared the next time he would meet them. He was also a bit scared for their lives, as they were a means to an end, and when their utility was over, they will assuredly die a long and painful death.

And it would be his fault.

A vibration from his pocket startled Harry from his thoughts. His hand dived into his jean pocket and fished out the buzzing object, which turned out to be his battered trunk. Curious, the teen took out his wand from his other pocket and tapped the shrunk object twice with it, rendering the trunk to its original size.

Harry quickly opened the trunk and followed the object whose vibrations were getting louder and stronger. Clothing articles, school materials, and books were falling from the overloaded trunk in Harry’s hurry to find the problem object.

Finally, after almost half the trunk was emptied, the sixteen year-old found it: Sirius’ mirror.

“Harry! Thank Merlin, you’re alright!” Sirius exclaimed the moment Harry answered the call. His relief and joy could be felt through the mirror, and suddenly, the dressing gown Harry had wanted to give Sirius over the fact that crucial information had been kept away from him went flying through the window.

Suddenly, Harry was just happy to hear his godfather’s voice. Although that joy quickly evaporated when he saw the frown orning Sirius’ face.

A questioning look took place on Harry’s face, which was answered by Sirius’ sigh, “I heard about the Dursleys.”

Harry froze and immediately feigned not knowing anything that could’ve been heard about his relatives. “I do not know what you are talking about, Sirius,” he said slowly.

“Don’t kid with me, Harry,” said Sirius, a thin layer of anger lacing his stern tone. “I know they kicked you out, that the wards fell, and that Death Eaters kidnapped your relatives.”

Harry quickly thought of a half-lie. “Listen, Sirius, it’s nothing, I’m fine. The Dursleys and I never saw eye-to-eye, and I was planning on leaving anyway,” he waved off.

“Indeed,” was the dry response. “And tell me, dear godson of mine, when, exactly, were you planning on leaving? In a month, when Dumbledore was supposed to go get you, only to return next year? Or said next year, when you turn of age, and that the Blood Wards would’ve turned ineffective had things differed?”

Harry looked down and bit his lip, obviously embarrassed to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Neither talked for a long moment, both of them pondering what to say next. Sirius, an unreadable expression on his face, finally said, “I need to talk to you about sensitive matters, so I think we should speak about them and the last 12 hours in person.”

Harry wondered what Sirius wanted to talk about. From his godfather’s tense form, he expected bad news.

“Um, yeah, sure. Euh, how do we meet?”

“Well, where are you?” Sirius questioned.

“I, euh, I’m at Peverell Manor,” responded Harry, stuttering a bit.

His previous attitude gone, Sirius’ grey orbs widened as he rapidly uttered, surprised, “P-Peverell Manor? Like, _the_ Peverell Manor? The one you saw behind the Veil with the great gardens and who is bigger than Malfoy Manor? _That_ one?”

“Yes, Sirius, _that_ Manor,” confirmed Harry with a near roll of the eyes. “And from what I’ve seen from the window in the few minutes I was awake, it is as beautiful as the one I saw when I was, well, dead, for lack of a better word.”

Sirius gave a weak chuckle. Indeed, it was one simple word for their peculiar experience. Speaking about death brought back Sirius’ thoughts to the matter at hand.

“So, are you alright?” asked Harry’s godfather.

The teen nodded and got out a small “Yes,”, but the animagus eyed Harry suspiciously.

The young boy stared right back before Sirius shook his head, much like a dog shaking off water. Sirius obviously wasn’t getting an answer from his godson.

Sirius passed a hand over his face, rubbing it, and then pinched his nose as he sighed, “Ok, then, how about this: you create a portkey to bring you here, then we talk and you tell me what’s wrong. And don’t lie,” added Sirius as Harry interjected that there was nothing wrong. “We both know that something is bothering you, that something is up, and we will talk about it when you are safe back at Grimmauld Place.”

There was a finality in his godfather’s tone that made Harry swallow any coming protestations. Instead, he asked, “I-How do you create a portkey?”

“Take an object that you will never use again, and tap it with your wand and say ‘Portus’ while thinking of where you want to go.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. It couldn’t be that easy to make something regulated by the Ministry, could it? No, it could not, as there was one massive problem. One that instilled an intense emotion inside Harry.

“What about me being underage? I can’t do magic!” panicked Harry.

A loud, bark-like laughter was his only response.

“Sirius, please, this is serious!”

The second the sentence came out of his mouth, Harry regretted it. The teen sighed loudly and closed his eyes when Sirius redoubled in laughter, tears leaking out of the animagus’ eyes.

Harry made a growling noise while opening his eyes, glaring. If looks could kill, as is the saying.

Sirius took pity upon his clueless godson when he saw the lost look hidden behind the glare, and stifled his chuckles as best as he could. “Harry, please, calm down!” said a still smiling Sirius, holding up an arm in a pacifying manner. “You have nothing to worry about. You are behind layers and layers of wards, you’re in the clear. In fact, you could do magic at Grimmauld Place, as both houses has thick, heavy wards.”

His initial irritation at Sirius’ laughter faded into disbelief. “Are you serious? Then why weren’t we said so?” exclaimed the teen with indignation.

“Because you aren’t allowed to do magic outside of school until you are 17.”

“But, you said that because of the wards no one would know, no one would detect it,” insisted Harry.

Sirius’ hand when through his hair. “It’s complicated, Harry. There are loads of exceptions and loopholes. I’ll explain when you get here. Just, don’t worry about using magic, and get here as soon as you can.” With those final words, the mirror went blank.

Sighing, Harry fell backwards on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He brought his wand in front of his eyes and twirled it in his hands. The teen looked around the room and sighed again before rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

He would obviously not be visiting the manor today.

Deciding to trust his father’s best friend, Harry packed his trunk as he could, though he still ended carrying most, if not all, of his old clothes in his hands.

Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths while crossing his fingers, Harry cast a _tempus_ , a charm which showed him what time it was. The numbers 8:03 appeared in front of his now open eyes.

He looked around the room and from the window, waiting for the Ministry owl. It didn’t come; he was in the clear, he could use magic.

Sighing his relief, the teen then took one of the shirts he was going to burn at first chance, tapped it, and muttered “Portus” while thinking of where he wanted to go.

The teen had less than a second to redouble his grip on his trunk and old hand-me-downs before he felt the familiar hook around his navel. The room blurred, only to be replaced by a dark decor. The drawing room at Grimmauld Place. Harry landed in a heap, the feeling he so hated going away as he fell face first to the floor.

A snort was heard, and Harry looked up to see Sirius against the door.

Apparently, Harry’s dishevelled appearance and glare was the trigger his godfather needed, for the man’s repressed laughter came out in full blow, just like earlier.

Though this time, Sirius didn’t feel inclined to stop any time soon.

-oOoOo-

A now calmed Sirius, who was sitting at the kitchen table in front of his favourite godson, was munching chocolate that most likely came from Lupin’s secret and forbidden-to-others stash. Lupin had good hiding spots - honestly, who would think of searching under a _dog’s_ bed for chocolate? - But he trusted the wrong man.

There was also the fact that Lupin had played him, making Harry believe that the stash was Sirius’, and not Lupin’s. When Sirius realised his godson had been played, he laughed his arse off. Again.

To be honest, Harry was a bit annoyed. Sure, it was all in good fun, but it was still unpleasant to have someone laughing at you almost every five minutes because you were too stupid and kept making, albeit unintentionally, serious, or Sirius, puns.

Of course, the puns weren’t the only thing making the Marauder laugh. For example, his dishevelled appearance after taking the portkey and glare at Sirius was the trigger for another full-blown laughter, and the punches the escapee received from his godson afterwards just made him chuckle harder.

Sirius, being Sirius, though far from being serious, just went with the tide and took the teen in a headlock, ruffling the already messy hair. Dragging a struggling teen many stair flights down to the basement was no easy feat, especially when your sides hurt from too much laughing.

Arrived in said basement, Sirius let Harry go, who then glared at the man, forcing Sirius to sit as his legs gave away.

Overall, it had taken his godfather over fifteen minutes to be ready to hear about his shopping trip in Diagon Alley. Close to ten of those minutes were spent calming down, and the rest of the time was alternated by eating and chuckling a bit.

Right now, Sirius had just finished eating his last chocolate frog, with the card being Dumbledore yet again.

“So,” started Sirius. “Now that we are watered and fed,” Harry had taken a few chocolate frogs and a glass of water, “Tell me about this trip of yours.”

“Well, I was at Gringotts for maybe-”

“No, no, I mean, tell me from the beginning: meeting with Madam Bones, the Dursleys, everything.”

Crap. Harry hesitated. He had hoped Sirius would forget about the fact that the Dursleys had kicked him out, leading to his rushed leaving from the property and their kidnapping.

Taking a deep breath, he started narrating his tale. He kept his head down to avoid Sirius’ eyes, but it was high enough so he could observe his godfather’s reactions.

They weren’t that bad. Sirius’ eyes were a bit misty when Harry said that he had contacted Madam Amelia Bones about his freedom via letter, he growled when the Dursleys were mentioned, his skin paled when he heard how close Harry was to being taken.

Halfway through the story, at the point when Harry was about to go shopping, Sirius left the kitchen, only to return with a bottle of Firewhiskey he said he took from his grandfather’s study.

“After I left Gringotts,” continued Harry as Sirius poured himself a glass of alcohol, “I didn’t know what to do; I was still processing the information flow. I just walked through the Alley, looking at stores that could interest me, as I had no idea where to start my “make-over”, as the Goblins put it.” Here, Sirius snorted yet again over the expression “make-over”.

Harry rolled his eyes. It had been over ten times they went through that: Harry would mention the Goblins’ expression, Sirius would snort, and Harry would then respond by an eye roll.

This time, though, Harry was grateful for the interruption, because he would’ve stopped talking anyway: he didn’t know how to address the tattoos. Until now, Sirius had well reacted to what happened to him, though he was gobsmacked when he learned of his godson’s inheritance, and of the Rings' acceptance.

_When asked what was so funny, he declared that everyone at Hogwarts was right at one point: he really is, and was, the Heir of Slytherin. He was answered by a feral grin._

_Sharptooth then summoned another goblin and told him something in Gobbledygook. The other goblin left, leaving Sharptooth and Harry alone again._

_His account manager started going through his papers, and Harry knew not to disturb him. After maybe five minutes, the goblin in front of him stopped rummaging and placed a small pile of parchment to the side before ordering the other documents, since they were all pell-mell._

_Not long after, the goblin that was commanded to do something for Sharptooth came back with a few boxes. All of them were made of wood. The darkest was ebony, one looked greener, and the two others were a dark red-brown colour._

_The young goblin carefully deposited the boxes on the table, and Sharptooth nodded to the goblin, who then bowed and left again, although this time he would not be coming back in unless he was asked to._

_Up close, Harry could see they were actually snuffboxes, and not boxes, and that the wood of each had nice, natural swirls. On the dark ebony one was a silver B, on the greenish one was a grey S, and on the two others was a P, one of which was plum and the other was mulberry coloured._

_“These, Heir Potter,” started Sharptooth as he opened the snuffboxes, “are Heir Rings. Once you are of age, the Lord Rings will be accessible by you, but since you are not of age yet, you can only wear these. Heir Rings do not diverge too much from Lord Rings, the main variation being that they are smaller, they do not have a gem, and they have no colour. They also contain less magic. Both set of Rings are square and have the House Animal superposed by the first letter of the family name.”_

_In the case of his Houses, the ring within the green box had a Basilisk with an S over it, and the ring that lay in the ebony wood snuffbox had a B over a Raven. The ring in the snuffbox with the plum coloured P had a Griffin in the background, and the last ring had a Thestral for animal._

_Slytherin, Black, Potter, Peverell._

_“Please put on each of the rings on your right ring finger one at the time. They will each judge you whether you are worthy or not to carry the Heir title.”_

_“And what happens if I am not worthy?” Harry asked dubiously._

_“You shall suffer a very painful and long death,” Sharptooth stated flatly. No point in hiding it from him._

_Swallowing deeply, Harry took a ring, realising numbly that it was the Potter one. Sliding it slowly on his ring finger, he waited for the judgement._

_Magic weighed heavily on his whole body, evaluating his worth. His knees felt weak, even though he is currently sitting on a chair. He felt like crumbling down, he felt like he was melting into the chair. His shoulders slumped forwards, and Harry quickly put his palms flat against the table to stop him from falling sideways off his chair._

_Then, the pressure started releasing itself gradually until the teen felt a welcoming feeling. It was family._

Harry had then repeated the process for each ring, every time feeling like he was coming home for the first time ever. Slytherin and Black Magiks felt darker, and rightfully so, though it was just as welcoming as those who felt more neutral.

In the end, the four rings merged together as one, the ring now “separated” in four parts, each quarter representing a different House.

Sirius was even a bit teary eyed when Harry told him he felt the same when he was around both his godfather and honorary uncle. The Marauder denied it though, saying that his eyes were teary because he hadn’t blinked.

But how will he react to the tattoos? Harry knew that many parents were against their charge having some, but he also knew that other parents didn’t mind that their kids get inked, even when they aren’t of age, so Harry was dreading the soon-to-be conversation.

One thing was for certain, the Dursleys would have punished him had he dared get himself some tattoos.

Seeing his anxiety, Sirius spoke softly, “You can tell me everything, you know. I won’t be mad.”

The teen almost snorted. Yeah, right.

Deciding to get the conversation over with, Harry took off his shirt, action which immediately showed his godfather his four tattoos. Well, more two than four, as one was on his calf and the other on his lower back. And even then, they were wrapped in gauze.

He instantly launched into how he got them. “I passed in front of Knockturn Alley and I saw _Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos_. I was curious, so I entered it. And it wasn’t very dangerous as the shop was borderline in Diagon Alley. The artist took on place orders, so I was able to tell him what I wanted, though I took my time as I didn’t really have any ideas. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I don’t regret it. In the end it took about two and a half hours to get everything done.”

Blinking rapidly and shaking his head much like Padfoot, Sirius asked, “But, how did you get that all done in just a few hours? It must’ve hurt a lot.”

“It only got a bit bad in the end. Magical tattoos aren’t like Muggle ones. For one, wizards don’t use needles; they use this instrument called a _Setis Caeli_. For all the talk about Muggles being barbaric, wizards often use said barbaric methods.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a _Setis Caeli_ resembles a Muggle airbrush, but instead of the ink being temporary, it is permanent. When sprayed onto skin, the ink penetrates it, settling right beneath the epidermis and stains it. Apparently it hurts a bit, albeit not as much as Muggle means, but I have a high pain tolerance, so it didn’t hurt as much as it should have.”

“Hmm,” Sirius narrowed his eyes. “And, you did those two tattoos all in one shot? Without the skin being irritated?”

“Advantage of the _Setis Caeli_ : it irritates less the skin, permitting longer sessions. Of course, if it hurts too much, the tattooer can just stop and continue another day. We just have to say so. But we still have to wear gauze over the tattoos and keep them dry non-stop for a few days. Oh, and it’s four tattoos!” added Harry.

When Sirius’ eyebrows shot up in a questioning way, Harry brought up his leg on the table and lifted his jean to show another gauze wrapped limb, and then brought his leg back down before he got up and turned around to reveal his lower back.

“Ah, four indeed.”

“Yeah,” responded Harry softly, lowering himself down on the chair.

For a few minutes, they looked everywhere but the other.

“Continue, Harry. What happened after you were finished at the tattoo parlour?” finally said Sirius.

Harry complied, a bit happy to change the topic. He then recounted to his godfather that he bought a new uniform, trunk with more than one compartment, and some school necessities like quills, ink pots and parchment. He also said how he looked for some of his Family books, only to find nothing as they would be in his Magical Guardian's secure hands.

“I have an early Christmas or a belated Birthday present for Professor Lupin,” he excitedly said as he took out the coupon for unlimited Wolfsbane. He passed it over to Sirius, who gingerly took it in his two hands before waving his wand and framing the coupon. He hanged the framed coupon proudly on the wall after having placed all protection spells he knew on it.

“Remus’ll be so happy!” uttered Sirius softly, his eyes full of an emotion he didn’t recognize.

The teen gave the older man a moment to recover his wits and sit down before carrying on with him eating ice cream at five am and shopping for real clothes; at last!

He wrapped up his tale quickly, for he was tired, by saying that he portkeyed to Peverell Manor thanks to his Heir Ring and that he fell asleep almost without delay on the comfy bed.

The ex-prisoner whistled slowly and loudly at the end while Harry was putting his shirt back on. For a moment he looked like he wanted to chastise Harry for having taken such risks, but in the end decided not to.

Instead, the front door opened. Harry and Sirius took out their wands and pointed them towards the kitchen door, only for them to meet their favourite werewolf, who had many objects in his hands.

Lifting a sceptical eyebrow, Lupin slowly said, “Hello,” then added, “A bit early in the morning to be that jumpy, don’t you think?”

The mirth in his eyes made Sirius scowl and Harry smile slightly. The dark haired men lowered their wands, but where Harry put his back into his pocket, Sirius kept his in his hand.

Rolling his eyes at Sirius’ antics, Lupin put his burden on the table and shook his arms a little before kissing Sirius hello. It was a sweet, slow kiss. Lupin gently cupped Sirius’ cheek with a hand while taking a few steps so that their chests almost touched.

Lupin broke the kiss then whispered something in his godfather’s ear that made the animagus’ cheeks become rosy. Whatever was whispered must’ve been big, as his godfather didn’t blush easily. Or so he thought.

Lupin went around him to organise the objects on the table. “Hello Harry,” greeted Lupin. “How are you feeling this morning? Feeling up to a small ritual?” he then asked.

“Um, I’m fine. W-What ritual?”

“Didn’t Sirius tell you?” Lupin asked in mock-scandal. Addressing Sirius, he asked with the same scandalised tone, “Didn’t you tell him?” Sirius only glared at him in response.

“If you didn’t tell him, then what did you talk about all this time?” Lupin was clearly enjoying himself.

“We talked about his little trip in Diagon Alley,” answered his godfather, crossing his arms. Looked like whatever Lupin whispered to him made him sulk.

“Ah, yes, the little trip. You’ll have to tell me what happened later. For now, though, why don’t you ask him.” The last sentence was more of an order than a question.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sirius turned to Harry, “I was wondering if you- No, OK. A few years ago, I offered you a home, and you said yes. Do you still-”

“Wha- Yes, of course I still want to live with you. Why?”

Biting his lip, Sirius said something extremely quickly of which Harry only understood “Iasnderinghoufetaboutloodoption”.

“Sorry, what?”

“Sirius…” warned Lupin sternly. The two stared into their eyes from across the kitchen.

“What is it?” asked Harry. They ignored him, continuing their match. Lupin’s gaze was stern and Sirius’ was stubborn. Was what Lupin wanted Sirius to tell him the bad news of earlier?

“Guys?” Harry asked worry lacing his voice. “Did someone die?”

Neither moved or paid attention to him, silently communicating with their eyes.

“Sirius? Pro-Remus?” Harry persisted. Still no reaction, so he asked, “Did someone die?”

That got them out of their staring match. They both turned to him with incredulous looks.

“That’s the bad news, isn’t it? Somebody died.”

His defeated tone shook them out of their stupor. “No, not at all, Harry,” quickly reassured Lupin, lifting his hands in a pacifying manner.

“THEN WHAT IS IT?” exploded Harry. His patience was already thin from being tired, and he had enough of the two Marauders leading him on. Whatever it was they wanted to tell him, he could take it.

Sighing, Lupin shot a sideways glance to Sirius before starting, “How d-”

“I was wondering how you felt about blood adoption,” blurted out Sirius suddenly, cutting off Lupin. “But apparently, it is bad news,” he added bitterly in an undertone.

Blood adoption? An indescribable expression settled on the teen’s face. Unknown to him, it was the same his godfather had worn a few times during their mirror call: a mix of love, longing, hope, and anxiety.

“Are you serious about this?” asked Harry softly.

“More than serious,” answered Sirius equally softly. The fact that no pun came out of the sentence proved how serious Sirius was.

“Then no,” for a moment, Sirius looked grief-stricken, that is, until he heard what Harry said next, “it isn’t bad news. It is excellent news.” A blinding smile formed across the escapee’s lips, making him look 15 years younger.

Acting on impulse, Sirius stepped forward and grabbed Harry in a tight hug and kissed the top of his head. At first, the teen had frozen, not used to physical touch, but after his godfather had given no indication of letting him go, he started to melt and get comfortable into the hug.

Sirius finally released him, though kept a hand on his shoulder, and said, “Are you sure about this? There is no going back after the adoption.”

“I’m sure about this, Sirius. But, why a blood adoption? Why not just a normal adoption?”

“Well, a blood adoption means that the people adopting you become your parents. You take up some of our genes, quirks, madness, brains and brawns. Your Magic can also change, family traits can come out; you name it,” said Sirius while stirring Harry to the drawing room where the Black family tree could be found. “Also, blood adoption is considered Dark, as it uses Blood magic, which is prohibited by the Ministry.”

“So is blood adoption illegal?”

“Oh, dear Merlin, no! The pure-blood families would blow a casket! It’s the only legal Blood magic. But it is still heavily frowned upon.”

“Why? If it’s legal, why do wizards don’t like it?”

Hesitating and biting his lip, Sirius answered, carefully observing Harry’s reaction, “Because it does not always… work.”

Harry’s eyes became a bit wider as he understood. It was the same as the rings’ acceptance: if the Family Magic did not deem you worthy of carrying its blood, you died slowly and painfully.

“Oh… Well, what is life without a little risk?” exclaimed Harry in an obvious effort to cheer his godfather up. From the fond smile forming on Sirius’ lips, Harry could see he was successful.

“Your fire-cracker of a mother often said that before helping us Marauders in setting up a particularly difficult prank.”

The titbit of information he received about his mother made Harry’s eyes sparkle brightly. His mother wasn’t the goody-two-shoes, know-it-all witch he thought she was.

Arrived in the Drawing room, Sirius conjured a triangular shaped, medium sized table. Lupin came in shortly after them carrying three tiny bowls, a larger bowl, and a knife he recognized as a ceremonial one like those used at Gringotts.

Lupin placed a bowl on each corner of the table and the larger one went in the middle.

“I was wondering, Harry, what you thought of my and Remus’ relationship?” suddenly asked Sirius. Lupin froze for a second before continuing the ritual’s preparations.

Understanding where this was going, Harry answered Sirius by his own question. “Are you happy?”

“Very, yes!”

“Then that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t care if you got yourself a harem: if you are happy, then who am I to speak against that?”

Sirius smiled, his eyes bright, and asked, “Then, I don’t suppose you would mind both of us blood adopting you, would you?”

Wow. Harry had not expected that. Although, the three bowls now made more sense. He nodded repeatedly, slowly, and muttered, “No, I wouldn’t mind. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Sirius clapped his hands together and kissed Harry on the head, clearly happy. Lupin then cleared his throat to catch their attention, having finished the preparations.

“Harry, stand there,” said Lupin, pointing to one tip of the triangle. “Sirius, to Harry’s left.” Sirius did as asked, positioning himself in front of the tip. Lupin then did the same.

“Let the Blood adoption ritual begin,” stated Lupin, nodding at his lover.

Sirius then morphed in front of Harry. Gone was the Azkaban escapee. His godfather now looked regal and proud, holding himself tall and imposing. He was Lord Black. While speaking, he took the silver knife in his hand and cut his palm, letting blood flow in the larger bowl in the middle.

“I, Lord Sirius Orion Black, adopt Harrison James Potter. I shall treat him like any other son of House Black. I shall nourish him, clothe him, love him as if my own son. So I have said, so mote it be.”

Sirius passed the knife to his left, where Remus did the same thing, though he winced as the knife was made of pure silver. “I, Remus John Lupin, adopt Harrison James Potter. I shall treat him like any other son of House Lupin. I shall nourish him, clothe him, love him as if my own son. So I have said, so mote it be.”

As if being possessed, Harry took the offered knife cut his palm, fascinated by the blood which flowed freely, and stoically said, “I, Harrison James Potter, consent to be adopted by Lord Sirius Orion Black and Remus John Lupin. I shall treat them like any other Lord of House Black. I shall respect them, listen to them, love them as if my own parents. So I said, so mote it be.”

Sirius then continued, taking the bowl in the middle and pouring some of the mixed blood into his small bowl. “As all parties have accepted, I hereby ask my Family Magic to accept the adoption of Harrison James Potter. I hereby ask my Family Magic to deem him worthy of carrying our Noble blood.”

Lupin then repeated what Sirius had said and done. Harry was next.

“I hereby permit the Family Magic of House Black and Lupin to deem me worthy of carrying its Noble blood. Shall I not be accepted, I request that my Magic be stripped from my Soul and body, for there is no greater disappointment than to be rejected. So I have said, so mote it be!”

The larger bowl was now empty, all the blood equally distributed throughout the three.  

“So I have said, so mote it be!” chanted Sirius and Remus simultaneously.

They all took their small bowl and drank its contents, then put the bowls down on the table.

A sensation identical to the one when the Heir Rings tested him fell immediately upon Harry, only this time, it was the full brunt of it, not the reduced portion for Heirs. He collapsed to his knees. He was heaving, not being able to breathe. It felt like he was crushed under a young killer whale; and he had experience with that, as Dudley weighed the same thing.

He again felt the harsh judgement of Family Magic all over him. Then, he felt it leave, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. But as soon as the Magic was gone, it was back even stronger than before, but Harry held against it.

Something told him not to collapse entirely.

So he didn’t.

Something inside him shifted, and Harry was starting to panic. Did he fail? Was he not deemed worthy? He didn’t want to lose his magic! He didn’t want to die before being able to live. And most of all, he didn’t want to leave his family.

Because that’s what Sirius and Lupin are. Family.

He knew he was being selfish, but it was the truth. Sirius and Lup-Remus are and always will be his family, and Harry wanted to do family things with them, like go on vacation in Greece or France, or even in the United States!

He wanted Sirius and Remus to see him graduate from Hogwarts, he wanted Sirius and Remus to be present at his wedding, and he wanted to make them, eventually, grandfathers.

Harry could feel tears running down his cheeks as he got more and more desperate to survive.

BOOM!

A great crash was heard, and Harry lifted his head, only to see everything blurry. He didn’t have his glasses on. Crap.

Still feeling the weight on him, Harry moved his hands around, hurrying when he heard cries and saw colours thrown around, mostly red.

Spells.

The teen started crawling around, sobs escaping him in his desperation. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew that red spells could most probably be Stunners, or worse, Crucios.

Oh, thank Merlin! The pressure lifted! And he just put his hand on familiar metal frames. He finally found his glasses! He put them on, only to be greeted by one of the worst visions ever. Or was it? He couldn’t know.

Remus’ eyes were amber instead of green, and was it him or Remus’ fingernails seemed longer and his ears pointier? His chest was going up and down rapidly.

His godfather was lying on the ground at wizards and witches’ feet. He wasn’t moving and a puddle of red liquid was slowly forming on his left side.

Harry heard an ear-piercing cry of “SIRIUS!”, not realizing it was from his own throat the scream left, and scrambled up to his feet, only to fall back down on all fours again. The wizards turned their heads towards him and a few started to advance on him, the tips of their wands red. Were they going to curse him, like Voldemort cursed his followers?

He then heard grunts and thumps before a solid pair of arms wrapped tight around him. It was Remus’ arms. He was growling at the intruders.

“Leave them,” said a stern voice.

“But, he attacked us! He’s dangerous, he’s a werewolf!” a witch argued.

The stern voice replied coldly, “He is currently growling because his pack is being attacked. We are lucky that we are alive and not too hurt. Just that fact should make you realize how much self-control he has. Most werewolves _kill_ if a wizard dares just _point_ a wand at their cubs. One would think an Auror was more open-minded.”

The witch quickly bowed her head, abashed. The stern voice spoke again, this time her tone leaving no room for argument. “We are leaving. Shacklebolt, Proudfoot, pick Black up.”

One by one, the Aurors - Harry realized who they were now that the fog seemed lifted from his brain - left, in the end leaving only the owner to the stern voice.

Looking at the ritual table and bowls, then at the teen’s right hand, she lightly shook her head before taking the floo and leaving as well.

Blood was starting to stain the wood. The couch was toppled over, as was the triangular table. The bowls, though, didn’t break from their fall.

“Sirius…” whispered Harry, while Remus made pitiful sounds with his arms wrapped around his cub.

The dying flames in the fireplace reflected in Harry’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6729
> 
> 04/09/17
> 
> So, longest chapter yet, hope it makes up for the really late update. It took me time to make the transition for Harry leaving Peverell Manor to recounting his tale.
> 
> I finally decided on making this a Haphne story, for in the last week I read many fanfics with a Susan pairing and a Daphne pairing, and for this story, I felt like Daphne felt better.
> 
> On another note, the first lemon is on its way. Any tips?  
> See ya soon. Hopefully.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


	7. Doing something, anything!

_The dying flames in the fireplace reflected in Harry's eyes._

Sirius' mind was blown. So much had happened in the last few hours! First, he was able to contact Harry, his favourite and only godson thanks to the communication mirror he gave him, mirror which Harry didn't use as he should've. Then, said godson came to Grimmauld Place dishevelled and glaring. The kid then proceeded to make unintentional Sirius puns, which was  _hilarious_  to hear and see.

And, of course, it was a mess asking an almost-of-age boy if he accepted to be Blood adopted by the most wanted criminal in Britain.

That is why it was so great when Harry agreed to become not only his son, but his blood one. It also meant a lot when Harry said all that mattered to him was if he was happy, either it is with a girl, a harem, or even Voldemort.

And Sirius was over the moon (ha!) when the teen said he didn't mind being Blood adopted by Remus as well.

Everything was perfect. Not.

Because Sirius had forgotten one important detail. No, seriously, Sirius shouldn't have forgotten that. At the same time, it was so  _Sirius_  of him to forget it.

Blood Magic is traceable.

Yes, indeed, Blood Magic can be traced. Easily. The trace can overrun the protection of the Fidelius Charm and all types of wards. It always was, because Blood Magic it just that: Blood. This means that any Blood Magic is tied to the blood of the caster, and only the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has access to Blood Charts, which glows red and makes sound when Blood Magic is used. Of course, no one can access the blood, charms prevent it.

His mother probably told him many times that should he do Blood Magic to do it in a lost corner in the woods, put up wards to hide the Magical signature, and disapparate immediately after the ritual is finished so to not get caught, but he was probably too occupied playing pranks for those instructions to engrave in his mind.

So, one second he was finishing the Blood Adoption ritual, and the next, Aurors were bursting through the floo and into the drawing room, the Blood magic telling the Head of the DMLE the emplacement of his ancestral home.

Sirius was immediately attacked by the law enforcers, and he didn't have time to dodge the diffindo to his side, nor did he escape the multiple stunners.

Next time he opened his eyes, he was being levitated into a cell in what he recognized as the lower levels of the Ministry of Magic.

Next time he was conscious, he was lying on the cot in the cell with a large bump at the back of his head.

"Damn," Sirius swore. It hurt. He had probably been knocked out.  _Oh god,_ thought Sirius.  _I was knocked out._

Sirius got up, and just like an animal would, he started pacing around in the small space, exploring the territory. It was obvious to any onlooker that the escapee was more Padfoot than Sirius: his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, his knees and back were bent, and he was sniffling non-stop.

His ears twitched, having heard sounds from near his cell. Sirius straightened up with a smirk plastered on his face.  _Time to rile up guards._

"Is it guard change yet?" he bellowed mock-innocently. "Who is it looking after lil' old me? Do you know the guy who gave me this  _awful_  bump? It really hurts, you know. Why did he do it? Was it an ancient shag of mine that was frustrated, one that I had before my sixth year? But then, if so, the guy would have to be a gall 'cause-"

"SHUT UP, BLACK!" cried a stoic female voice, cutting off Sirius. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending from where you stood, that was all it took to set Sirius off, whose back was leaning casually against the cell bars.

"Ahh, Millie Penline! Hufflepuff, a few years younger, right?"

"That isn't my name and I was a Ravenclaw!"

"Oh, do pardon me, Jessica Newland! I believe Azkaban has left more marks on my person than I thought. I think that's why I got caught at Grimmauld Place. I mean, honestly, how could I have forgotten the basic rules of Blood Magic? I can practically hear my dear old mother screeching them in my ear." Sirius cleared his throat, and then continued in a poor imitation of his mother, his voice high and grating. "'Always choose a place in the middle of nowhere.' 'Get your arse quickly away from where the ritual took place.' 'Don't get caught: you are the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Just imagine the shame it would bring on our family should you get busted.' Merlin, she was  _such_  a kill-joy."

The prankster sighed dramatically while his hand came up to rest against his heart. "But alas, such words are in the past, but her joy-killing mood isn't, for she put a permanent sticking charm on her portrait. Remus and I still weren't able to get it down. Speaking of," Sirius turned around and gripped the bars. "How are they? How are Harry and Remus?"

There was silence at the other end.

"I'm really worried about them, you know."

Silence.

"Are you going to tell me of their whereabouts?" Still silence.

"Nothing? Not even just a teensy-weensy, itty-bitty piece of information?" he cooed with a pout on his lips and pleading puppy eyes. His right index and thumb were so close they nearly touched.

Nope, still nothing. The guard hadn't even moved.

"Pff, figures," sneered Sirius. He walked to his cot and slumped down into it, resting his head against the wall.

_This was going to be a long day,_ he thought as he started counting the cracks in the ceiling.

-oOoOo-

_271... 272… 273... 275... No, no 274. Now 275. Or is it 276? Nan. Now, it's 276. 277... 288… Wait, what? 288? Is it 288? So if that one was 275… or was it 274? Let's go back to 271. That is 271, that is 272, but is 273 the weird swirly one, or is it the one that looks like those Muggle signs… the Peace hates Love thingy? Or is it Peace_ and  _Love?_

_Bah. Where was I? Oh, yeah, 292._

_Nope, wrong number. It's 273 I was searching for. Where are the cracks? I can't find the cracks! Quick, find 271!_

"Raahhhh!" screamed Sirius, hitting the wall on his right with his hand.

"What has the poor wall done to get you so angry at him, Mr. Black?" mocked a voice.

Sirius jumped up, startled. On the other side of the cell was none other than the woman his godson had contacted, Amelia Bones. He stared at her.

"Not going to answer my question?" she asked after a certain time. "Oh, well." She turned to the dozen of Aurors behind her and barked an order that he didn't hear.

Aurors entered his cell, and then he suddenly found half his face pressed uncomfortably into the wall. Four hands were holding his shoulders and head while another pair crossed his hands and cuffed them.

He was turned around to face Amelia Bones.

"What is happening?" snarled Sirius while trying to shake off the Aurors' grip on him.

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Bones seemed genuinely surprised. Turning to her men, she asked, "Didn't anyone tell him? Didn't anyone check on him? I thought I had ordered to make sure he came to before 24 hours had passed."

No one answered her. "Was he unconscious all this time?"

"What do you mean by that? I woke up a good few hours earlier with a nasty bump on the head. And I still don't know who gave it to me-"

"Black, you do not understand-"

"Of course I do! So-"

"Black...-"

"-I was supposed to wake-"

"Black, no-"

"-up earlier than I have, big deal! And now, you are-"

"Sirius, please listen-"

"-probably planning on giving me the kiss-"

"What? No!"

"-so be assured that-"

"Silencio," snapped Bones, pinching her nose. She then sighed. "Thank god you shut up!"

Sirius glared.

"Listen Black, you won't be given the kiss. At least, not right now," she added when Sirius' face adopted an incredulous expression. "It will all depend on your trial. And yes, Black, you heard correctly. I was able to convince Minister Fudge to give you a trial as soon as possible."

The escapee snorted, though no sound came out of his mouth, and rolled his eyes.

"You were supposed to be woken up at the latest a day after you were installed in the cell, but apparently, my Aurors have decided it's let's-ignore-the-boss'-orders month. Anyway, any questions before we lead you to the courtroom?"

Sirius his mouth as an answer, and a faint colour graced Bones' cheeks. She ended the spell with a simple  _finite_ , and Sirius nodded his thanks.

"Tell me, what day is it? How long have I been here? And how are Harry and Remus?" Another half-dozen of questions were jumping around in his head, but the animagus only blurted out the most important ones.

"Black, it is July third today. You've been here for four days, all of which were spent unconscious, apparently. Misters Potter and Lupin are well, albeit worried. They will be present in the courtroom today, so you will be able to see for yourself."

Sirius nodded, and then asked, "How come the trial is so soon?"

Bones smirked, the answered in a mock-professional voice. "Well, Mr. Black, if you must know, Fudge made the decision by himself, just like a good Minister would after receiving all the facts. Anything else?"

"No, it can wait," Sirius said shaking his head.

Bones nodded. "Very well. Bring him along," she ordered before leaving the cell.

Sirius was guided through the hallways by the Aurors who all had their wands out with a spell on their lips, ready to shoot him at the smallest hint of attempt to escape. Each of his arms was held by an Auror, and Madam Bones was walking a few feet in front of him, leading the way.

Not before long, Sirius was standing in front of a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock. He took a deep breath as Madam Bones turned the handle.

-oOoOo-

Harry was bored. Remus' arms were still around him. Dumbledore had arrived earlier, maybe an hour after Sirius' capture, but he hasn't been able to make Remus let go of him.

Dumbledore has been saying variations of "Remus, let Harry go," for the past two hours, but Remus didn't relent. Neither did Dumbledore.

The Headmaster sighed. Dealing with panicked werewolf was no piece of cake. Cake? Hmm.

"Remus, don't you think you would feel much better with some chocolate in your system?" Remus only tightened his arms around Harry.

Harry locked eyes with Dumbledore, and his expression all but said, _"Nope, Headmaster. Won't work. Gotta try harder."_

"I think you would have more energy to protect Harry and rescue Sirius if you did."

Remus' eyebrows frowned. They were getting somewhere!

Remus gruffly nodded towards the stairs, and rubbed his cheek against Harry's head, as if to say, "I'm not leaving him, but if you want me so much to eat chocolate, you can go get it."

"And with all that sitting," Dumbledore coaxed on, "if someone attacks again, you'll be all stiff and unable to fight."

Remus leaned back and his grip loosened on Harry, contemplating the "wise" words. The teen kept still, not wanting to ruin his chance to get out of the overprotective grip - even though it was justified.

Slowly - very slowly - Remus got up, his gaze not leaving Dumbledore's blue orbs as he gradually let go of his cub.

The moment Remus was engaged in the staircase and out of sight, the two people left in the room sighed loudly.

It was Dumbledore who spoke first. "How are you doing, my boy?"

Harry just shrugged. "I'm fine, Sir. A bit sore, but I hear that is expected after you get Blood adopted."

"Ah, yes, your adoption. Congratulations, my boy. You must be happy."

"Yeah," Harry sighed, a small, peaceful smile toying on his lips. "I am."

Dumbledore frowned. "You do not seem troubled. Are you not worried about Sirius?"

The peaceful smile turned into an indulgent one. "A bit, but I'm mostly worried about Prof-Remus. He doesn't have all the information about Sirius' situation, and I'm afraid it's too late to tell him."

"Harry, it is never too late to give information."

"Isn't it, Professor?" Harry asked rhetorically, lifting an eyebrow.

Dumbledore sighed and bowed his head. This clearly wasn't going as he wanted. "Harry, I understand where you come from, and I am truly sorry, my boy. That is why I ask you to not repeat my mistakes."

Harry bit his lip, feeling a bit guilty at how his words seemed to affect his Headmaster, who suddenly looked so  _old_.

"Do not feel guilty, Harry. Your words were justified, and I do not deny that I have gravely wronged you. I only hope that you will find it within you to forgive this old man."

Harry nodded, his eyes slightly watery. He looked away from Dumbledore and fixed his gaze on the tapestry.

Harry let his eyes wander over the names he had already traced over, some ringing more bells than others. He glided over to Sirius', knowing that there would only be a burnt circle, but still wanting to observe it.

"Merlin," whispered Harry. He slowly got up and stumbled to the wall, putting his hand on Sirius' name. Then, he traced the line going from his godfather's name to see another one.

_Harry Black-Potter._

The Family magic accepted him enough to include him on the family tree. A nice, giddy feeling settled in his chest, and suddenly Harry was grinning like a fool, his eyes bright with adoration.  _I love magic._

At that moment, Remus entered the room, now calmer, only to see his cub looking like he was on ecstasy. "What happened while I was gone?" he asked, making Harry jump.

"Pr-Remus! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm great! Look at this!" Reaching for Remus' hand he brought him closer to the wall, and pointed at his name. "I'm now on the family tree. But why aren't you? You adopted me, and Sirius and you are together, so shouldn't you show up?"

Chuckling slightly at Harry's enthusiasm, he responded, "No, I wouldn't be on this tapestry, because Sirius and I aren't officially together."

"What do you mean by that?"

Remus blushed and tried to answer, but no sound came out of his mouth when he opened it. Behind them, Dumbledore chuckled, making Harry and Remus turn around to face him.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"What Remus meant to say, is that they are not  _officially_  together."

"Officially? What do you- Oh!" Harry understood. They weren't married. And how could they be? After all, Remus is a werewolf, and Sirius was stuck in Azkaban for 12 years, and even now, he was a wanted criminal. There was no way he could get married.

Harry tried not to, but it was really difficult for him not to pity Remus. His life had been so miserable, just because of one person. His face darkened at the mere thought of the rat, and his previously happy feelings faded until almost only anger was left.

Next time Harry saw Pettigrew, he wasn't going to be as merciful.

-oOoOo-

The next few days passed without almost any hitch. The few bumps they encountered were when they received the  _Daily Prophet_  of the next day, June 30, with the announcement of Sirius Black's capture orning the front page. The picture of Sirius used was one of him lying on a cot in one of the Ministry cells. Luckily, there were no clues that gave away which cell number Sirius had, or on what floor he was.

The other main bump had been the summon to Sirius' trial they received on the morning of July first. It had said nothing save the courtroom number and the time they had to be there.

Remus, Harry, and other people from the order had gone through law books to see if there were any loopholes that they could manipulate to give even more chances for their friend to be sentenced not guilty.

During the afternoon of that day, Harry had received a letter saying simply:

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_I am Lord Voldemort._

_-AB_

Harry had smiled.  _Amelia finally figured it out. Probably the reason why Sirius' trial is so soon._

On July second, the people summoned at the trial got another letter, this one containing more details, such as "since you are too close to the person on trial, you cannot defend him."

Then there was the big problem: the Blood adoption. Because of it, Harry had been in pain almost every minute of the day since the ritual took place, and it didn't look like it was going to end soon.

Now, at dawn the morning of July third, the morning of the trial, Harry was lying in bed, shivering and with a fever. His head was in Remus' lap who was dabbing his skin with a lukewarm cloth.

"You don't have to come to the trial. You are underage: it is not required for you to be there," murmured Remus.

"I h-have to be there, R-Remus. If I don't go, it's practically s-saying 'Go ahead, lock him in Azkaban, I don't b-believe him as I'm not there.'"

Remus sighed, "You are not well, Harry. Your body is still changing and adapting to the new genetics in you."

Sitting up, Harry shook his head. "N-no, I'm fine, Remus. I'll just go take a s-shower, I'll feel better afterwards. T-then, we can go see S-Sirius."

Harry left his room and entered the bathroom. He put a towel over the mirror. He didn't want to see what he looked like until his two adopters were there by his side to comment on the changes, and also until said changes were done.

He turned the shower on, and then proceeded to get out of his sweaty clothes. He stepped into the bath, under the water, and adjusted the temperature. The teen scrubbed himself clean and washed himself, and got out of the shower after maybe ten minutes.

Harry dried himself with a towel, and bent to pick up the clothes he wanted to wear today, only to realise that only his dirty ones were there. Wrapping the towel around his waist, Harry went to his room quickly.

He was smartly dressed in his new heir clothing, which would be perfect for today's event. His open robes were plum coloured, with the trimmings and cufflinks a light grey. His trousers were black, and his button-up shirt was the same grey as his trimmings. His feet were snuggled in black dragon hide boots, with his trousers tucked in them. For the first time in his life, Harry thought he looked good. The only thing he needed to do now was to get rid of his glasses.

Going down the stairs, he met with Remus in front of the fireplace; they were going to floo.

"Ready?" asked Remus while observing Harry from head to toes. "You look good."

"Thanks, Remus. You don't look too bad either. And yeah, I'm ready," added Harry as an afterthought.

Remus had indeed cleaned up. He was wearing open sapphire robes with silver trimmings and cufflinks, with a black button-up shirt and silver trousers inside green dragon hide boots.

He chuckled lightly, and then said, "Alright. The floo address is 'Ministry Atrium', and we meet up by the fountain. You go first, so I know your destination in case you say it wrong."

Harry nodded, took a handful of floo-powder from the pot and threw it in the flames had had conjured earlier and walked into the now emerald ones. He loudly and clearly said, "Ministry Atrium", and Harry was suddenly highly reminded why he hated using the floo as he saw the dizzying blurs and colours. He finally landed face first into the Atrium floor, and he got up quickly before anyone looked his way.

He walked to the fountain to wait for Remus, but didn't have to wait long. Remus approached him after a minute of waiting, and asked Harry, "What were the first words you heard me say?"

Ooohh, trick question. "You said in a hoarse voice, 'Quiet! Stay where you are.'"

Remus nodded and took Harry's arm. "Come on; let's go down to Courtroom Ten."

They went towards a lift and got in it. Remus and Harry waited for the voice in the lift to announce their floor. Five minutes later, it did.

The people in the lift looked at them weirdly, and for good reason: it is not every day you see a poor looking man along with a teenager go into the Department of Mysteries.

As they approached the room where all will be decided, Harry got more and more nervous, and feeble waves of pain coursed through his body; not hurtful enough to make him burn up just like this morning, but enough to make his hands shake.

They now stood outside a grimy wooden door with an immense iron lock. Pushing the door open, Remus dragged Harry with him as they went to sit at their assigned seats. They were really close to the chair in which Sirius would soon sit.

They looked at each other, and the both of them thought the same thing.

_And now, we wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3650
> 
> 16/10/17
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read this story, it means a lot to me! Also, I would really like to point out how big my number of followers has gotten since the last time I updated. Special thanks to those who left kudos!
> 
> So, I have come up with an agenda to follow, and on that note, I should update Through the Veil and back every 15th of the month. Of course, sometimes (like this time), the chapter will be a day late, but not more.
> 
> If you have comments, questions, suggestions, don't be shy and write them! As for the lemon, I have started it (aka, the first five lines are written) Xp.
> 
> See you next month!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.

**Author's Note:**

> 189
> 
> 29/06/17
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K Rowling.


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